


Missing Pieces

by DayenuRose



Series: Untangling the Threads [5]
Category: Batgirl (Comics), Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Birds of Prey - freeform, Brothers, Dancing, Dresses, Family Dynamics, GCPD, Glasses, Harvey Bullock (Cameo), Internal Dialogue, Investigations, Kidnapping, Minor Injuries, Mobsters, Multi, Renee Montoya (mention), Rescue, Rotating third person POV, Secret Identity, Team Up, Who knows whose identity?, gala - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-06-11 10:36:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 34,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15313647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DayenuRose/pseuds/DayenuRose
Summary: When someone is abducted from the police charity gala Bruce is hosting at the Manor, the family realises just how many things they have been missing recently. Can they find what they lost before its too late?





	1. Lost: Glasses

“Dick have you seen my glasses?” Babs called from the bathroom. He could hear her riffling through drawers and re-arranging shelves. 

He threw down the tech magazine he was leafing through and joined the search. He searched for them on the end tables and behind stacks of books. “You know, I always wondered how someone who wears glasses looks for them when they go missing. I mean, don’t you need your glasses in order to find your glasses?”

“So profound. What did you discover?” She moved her search to the bedroom.

“Apparently you do so noisily...and get someone else to help you search.” From the sound she was making in the other room, her search was taking on an urgent quality he didn’t much see the need for. They were already late, so what did a few minutes more mean. No one actually expected him to be on time for the gala. 

“Just keep looking, bird boy.” The snarky reply came from the kitchen. 

“And now you’re channeling Jason. Take it easy Babs, no one will care if we’re late. All we need to do is put in an appearance, get photographed, make a statement to the press in support of the GCPD, and dance. Then we can leave.” 

Babs leaned around the corner and grimaced at him. He was shuffling through items on her computer desk, attempting to uncover the missing glasses. “It’s never that easy. Could we just skip all the press and stick to the dancing?”

“I wish. But you know, we have to keep up appearances. I’m Bruce Wayne’s son, you’re the police commissioners daughter. We’re dating again. That’s going to make some reporter’s day. If we don’t give them something, they’ll start digging.”

“And we don’t want them digging. I know.” There was a sharp exhalation as she ducked back into the kitchen. 

“Found them,” Dick said in a sing-song voice as he pulled the glasses out from under a stapled stack of papers written in Arabic. It didn’t surprise him that she could read it. He’d been working on learning the language since Damian entered his life, but he wasn’t a natural linguist. Even though it had been years, he still struggled with the language and Damian often told him he sounded like a child. The boy was also not so secretly pleased that his big brother was attempting it for his sake. 

Setting the papers aside, Dick picked up the glasses and headed for Babs. On a whim, he slipped the glasses on as he turned into the kitchen. Surely this would make her lau--

“Woah. Babs!” He blinked behind the frames. 

“Give them here.” She smirked and held out her hand. “Not what you were expecting?”

“No.” He pulled them off and studied her through them from the opposite direction. “They’re just glass.” 

She took the glasses from Dick and proceeded to clean the lenses. “You know, you’re the first person to figure that out.”

“But...why?” 

“Secret identity. I figured if it worked for Clark it could work for me.” She smiled at his dumbfounded expression. “You do realise Batgirl doesn’t wear glasses, don’t you?”

He nodded. “I guess I assumed you wore contacts when you were on patrol.” 

She slipped the glasses on, settling the arms over her ears and pushing the bridge up her nose. “How do I look?”

Dick’s breath caught in his throat. He smiled and offered her his hand. He spun her, and then held her close for a kiss. “Beautiful, as always.”

Tonight’s gala would feature the who’s who of Gotham and Dick knew she would outshine them all. Her dress wasn’t new or some haute couture design, but it suited her. The design was a perfect balance between the expected elegance of the evening and the ability to move freely in case there was trouble. Over the years she’d collected a few dresses like this she could wear to such events, all purchased at second-hand shops or on sale at department stores. She saw no reason to spend a small fortune on a dress that would only be worn a few times at most. 

When he was younger, he’d witnessed Bruce buy designer gowns for his various dates. Dick had tried it—once. Dick and Babs had just started dating and Bruce had insisted they join him for some charity event. He had ordered a dress for his date and Dick had asked if he could get one for Babs as well. Bruce hadn’t objected and he’d even helped Dick make the selection. When the dress arrived, he’d taken it straight over to her house. At the time he couldn’t wait to see her face. 

He hadn’t expected what happened next. As she’d opened the box, her expression turned to stone. In the long moment it took her to push her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, Dick realised he’d made a mistake. She thanked him for his consideration, but couldn’t accept the dress. If the dress she had already selected wasn’t good enough, then she would stay home. He’d stammered an apology, assuring her that her dress would be fine and he’d see her later. Returning home with the dress, it began to dawn on him just how far he’d drifted from his roots. 

Babs wasn’t impressed with a flaunting of wealth. She wasn’t one of Bruce’s dates to woo with fancy dresses and shallow promises. As much as Dick loathed admitting it, those women were as much accessories to Bruce’s playboy billionaire routine as was his bow tie and cuff links. Babs was no one’s accessory and he’d treated her like one. He’d insulted her by insinuating that she wasn’t good enough on her own to mingle with Gotham’s one percent. She was the daughter of Gotham’s honest police commissioner; it meant they were comfortable, but by no means wealthy. In order to save for college, she worked a part time job after school. If Dick’s parents had lived, if Bruce hadn’t taken him in, he’d be closer to Babs’ station in life than Bruce’s. 

As far as he knew, Babs had never worn the dress. It probably still hung in the closet of the room Alfred had set aside for Barbara after she joined their mission. A room, as far as he knew she’d never used either. 

“Lost in thought?” She laughed and attempted to return the spin. He ducked under her arm to complete the turn. 

“What does your dad think about the glasses? You started wearing them in high school. He would have been involved with that.”

“Well, these aren’t my only ones.” She touched the side of her glasses. “I have glasses for reading and computer work. It’s what gave me the idea to wear them all the time. When people look at me, they see a girl with glasses, maybe a geek or an intellectual, anything but a superhero. And, I like how I look in glasses.” She shrugged. 

“That’s why you were so panicked about finding your glasses. They’re your mask.”

“Got it in one, Boy Wonder.” She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “We better head out, we’re risking being beyond fashionably late. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave.” 

“Lead on, my love.” He held her hand and followed her out of her apartment. 

 


	2. Lost: Brother

Damian lounged against the doorframe opposite the door that led in from the garage. Already he had managed to perfect the bored billionaire look. “I told Brown, you would come this way.” 

“Hi to you too, kiddo.” Dick reached over to ruffle Damian’s slicked back hair, but the boy pulled back before Dick could touch it. 

“I’d rather not have to re-do my hair. We are already late.” He ran a hand over his hair as though to make sure not a strand had fallen out of place. 

Babs had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. He was so sincere. Underneath the imperious exterior was a boy who wanted nothing more than the approval of the men he admired. Nothing more than to please them. Instead of laughing, she smiled and leaned in to straighten his bow tie. “You look nice, Damian.” 

“Tt.” Though he tried to dismiss the compliment, colour rose to his cheeks. For a moment she was tempted to leave the lipstick prints of a sisterly kiss on his cheek, but stopped when she noticed the telltale signs of makeup hiding a fresh injury. With her thumb she rubbed at the line along his jaw where the makeup had not quite properly blended with his skin. He didn’t pull away, instead he waited for her to finish. As she worked, she noticed his swollen cheek. He leaned against the doorframe, not in an effort to appear nonchalant, rather he was keeping the weight off his ankle. 

Dick recognised the signs too. “What were you up to this afternoon?”

To the surprise of both elder vigilantes, Damian didn’t hesitate. “Todd and I were following some leads he picked up while in Eastern Europe.”

“As Red Hood and Robin? During the day?” Dick’s brow creased and the muscles in his shoulders tightened. Damian would always be his baby bird. 

“No, as myself and...” He paused as he tried to recall if they’d come up with a cover story for Jason’s presence, or if they’d simply assumed no one would ask if they paraded around like they owned the place—which they did. “...and Todd. He believed one of the factories Father’s company works with in Minsk was using shipments as a cover to smuggle illegal narcotics into Gotham.”

“And...” Babs didn’t like the sound of this. Even if he hadn’t wanted to let anyone else know about his leads, Jason should have at least told her. She could have helped. Provided him with information, backgrounds, that sort of thing. He didn’t have to do this all on his own. Besides, this case was beginning to sound familiar. 

“Todd had an address for a warehouse. I said I was inspecting shipments for Father.” Damian shrugged. Despite all his advance training and education, Damian was still a child. Most people didn’t appreciate being questioned by a child. Even if they were doing nothing wrong it tended to put them on edge. “They were not happy with our inspection. Todd pretended to be my bodyguard when things became physical and I had to take a few hits to maintain my cover.” 

“And your ankle?” Dick prompted.

Damian grimaced. “I tripped while Todd was escorting me out of the warehouse.”

“Does Bruce know?”

“No.” 

Dick needed to move, but there was no room with the three of them crammed into the mudroom. “Where’s Jason now?” 

“He is on patrol this evening since the rest of us are here.” 

Babs frowned. “Wait, he’s the only one of the family not at the gala?”

“Why should he be? He’s dead.” Damian said it in such a straightforward manner that Babs was taken aback. He’d never known a Jason that wasn’t post-resurrection. 

In theory it made sense. There would be too many questions asked if Bruce Wayne’s dead son suddenly reappeared out of nowhere. All new references to his life after death had been stripped from the public record—she’d seen to that. If his fingerprints or picture popped up in some database before she could erase it, at most he’d be connected to some John Doe who may or may not have spent some time in Arkham. The agencies that dealt with anything strange, weird, or super knew he was back, but the general populace did not. 

Still, wasn’t there something Bruce could do to bring him back into the fold? With Bruce’s money and connections, with her computer skills, surely they could work something out. Jason really was trying to find his way back and they weren’t making things any easier for him. He wasn’t the only one in the family who had killed. He wasn’t the only one who had carried guns. Damian and Dick were proof that breaking those rules weren’t the cause for immediate and permanent expulsion from the family. They needed to try harder to reach out to him, to bring him back in from the cold. One look at Dick told Babs he was thinking along similar lines. 

“What are you doing here?” Damian snapped. 

Dick and Babs opened their mouths to protest when they noticed what Damian had already spotted. An unknown man had attempted to brush past them and into the depths of the family quarters. 

“Uh. I was looking for the bathroom.” The man didn’t look up. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. 

“There isn’t one down here for you to use.” Damian eyed the stranger suspiciously. The man wore black trousers and a black vest over a white dress shirt. “Who are you?”

“Joel. I’m with the catering staff. Please don’t tell my boss.” 

Before Damian could speak again, Dick broke in. “There’s a bathroom near where catering is set up.”

They waited as Dick studied the man. He had always been good at reading people, at discerning their intentions. Joel shifted uneasily under Dick’s piercing gaze. 

“I got lost,” Joel blurted. “I didn’t mean to end up here.”

At the very least, Dick was certain that much was true. Dick lowered his gaze. Without truly realising what he was doing, Dick slipped into a relaxed sloped shoulder posture similar to Bruce’s magnanimous billionaire persona. “There appears to be no harm done. So, as long as we don’t find you roaming into the private parts of the house again, I’m certain we can let this go.” 

The tension in Joel’s shoulders didn’t dissipate, but the look of pure terror in his face had relaxed. “Yessir.” 

“Good. Then I’ll show you the way back up to the front.” Before leaving, he touched Damian’s shoulder in a quelling gesture. Damian scowled but didn’t protest. Leaning into Barbara, Dick kissed her and whispered. “I’ll meet you up front. Check the cams before heading up.” 

She nodded. “Love you too.” 

They waited in silence for Dick to lead the interloper out of earshot before moving. Babs pulled her civilian phone from her purse and dialled Tim. From the party, he’d have quicker access to the Manor cameras than she would since her purse was truly too small to hold any of her usual gear. Damian was still there when she hung up.

“Why did Grayson let him go?” Damian demanded. 

“Several reasons. If Joel truly did wander back here by mistake, it’s not fair to condemn him harshly. For the uninitiated the Manor does have a bit of a labyrinthine quality to it. Who knows what might happen? If he loses this job, he may have trouble finding another one. Which may lead him to struggle in providing for his family and feel like he has no option but to embrace the over abundance of Gotham’s criminal opportunities.” 

Damian scoffed. “That is quite a few ‘what if’s. The simpler explanation is that he was casing the Manor.” 

“True. But, Dick generally has a good sense about people. I trust his judgment, do you?”

“Yes.” Damian answered immediately, not needing even a moment to consider the possibilities. 

“Good. Now, let’s fix your face before heading up to the party. We can use the bathroom off of Dick’s room, it has the best lighting for this kind of work.” 

“Very well.” He did his best to hide the limp as he walked beside her. 

“Has anyone checked your ankle?” 

“No. I wrapped it. Though, it is possible I could use a second opinion.” 

“Sure thing kiddo.” She said it without thinking. Dick called him kiddo often enough it had slipped from her tongue. 

“Tt.” Though he scoffed, something nearing a smile tugged briefly at the corner of his lips. 

 


	3. Lost: In Thought

Though they had entered from the family quarters of the Manor, Babs was certain that the cameras from every Gotham gossip or society column and blog had captured her and Dick entering the party together. They’d answered questions that bordered on too personal and made their official statements. Dick appreciated all the work that the GCPD put into making Gotham a safer city. Babs commented on how proud she was of her father and how he was an inspiration to her. With their obligation to the press complete, they found their way out to the dance floor.

Even across the crowded ballroom, Babs spotted Steph dancing with Tim. Even from across the room, Babs could tell Steph was trying to make him laugh while Tim counted steps. His mind was elsewhere so the steps were mechanical. 

“Think I’m going to need to teach Timmy to dance again.” Dick spun Babs in time with the music. “He is not having enough fun.” 

Warring emotions tugged through her heart and spilled across her face. There was a certain joy at the memory of witnessing Dick teach his siblings the formal dances. At the same time, there was a lingering sadness. She hadn’t been able to help. After the lessons and his siblings had scattered back around the house, he had danced with her in the privacy of the empty ballroom. That had been a sweet moment. A little bittersweet too. 

He leaned his head close, though the music didn’t call for it, and whispered in her ear. “Are you okay? Do you want to stop?”

“No. Let’s dance another one.” She relaxed into him, allowing him to lead. Her feet moved to the music, remembering the steps she’d learned long ago. “Do you realise this is our first dance together since...the surgery. I hadn’t thought of it ‘til now.”

“Then let’s make this memorable.” 

As the third dance in a row came to a close, Dick released his hold on Babs’ waist, though he still held her hand. He bowed at the waist in a simple reverence and she returned the gesture with a curtsey. “I should go dance with Cass so she can escape the crowd.” 

“Can I escape too?” Babs curled her toes in her shoes wishing she’d gone with the flats instead of the heels. They had ended their dance near the edge of the room on the opposite side from Cass and Tim. 

Dick shook his head. Cass had an agreement with Bruce. When she came to one of these parties, she needed to at least dance with Bruce and each of her brothers who were present at the party before she disappeared into the shadows. Since Damian wouldn’t be dancing this evening, her dance with Dick would be her last of the evening. “Sorry, we should stick around a little longer.” 

“I know.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “I’m going to catch up with my dad.” 

“One dance, promise. Unless Steph catches me then it might be two. I’ll be back soon.” 

“Take your time, Boy Wonder. I can fend for myself. Maybe I’ll find another dance partner.” She winked at him. Despite what she said about a new partner, the idea of sitting out the next couple of dances was much more appealing. 

Dick feigned injury in his exaggerated manner, before quickly slipping back into his infectious grin. He pressed a row of kisses along her fingertips and didn’t let go of her hand until distance forced their hands apart.

Babs watched him cross the room towards Tim and Cass until the shifting crowd closed in on his wake. Uncertain what to do now that the music had ended, Tim stood awkwardly next to Cass. The confusion only lasted until Tim spied Dick headed in their direction. He darted away, only to be stopped by Steph and wrangled into another dance.

Cass had a mischievous smile as she held her hand out to her eldest brother. She loved to dance, and Dick was a good partner. If it wasn’t for the crowd of strangers, she could dance all evening. After her dance with Dick, Cass would most likely disappear from sight for the rest of the evening. Though, if you knew her patterns, you could find her hidden in the shadows keeping watch. 

Babs turned from the dance floor and sought out her dad. She knew he’d be here. Bruce always invited him to these things. Besides the whole evening was in support of the police department. 

There he was. He waved her over to where he had staked out one of the tables arranged around the perimeter of the room. As she made her way along the edge of the room, she stopped at the open bar and ordered a soda. 

“Hi Dad,” she greeted him with a hug. Her knees buckled as she sat in the empty chair beside him. She sipped her soda in order to hide the frown the flickered across her face. It was odd, she could spend all evening on patrol and not miss a beat, but after three dances her legs felt like they were made of Jello. She blamed the shoes. Wiggling out of the offending footwear, she tucked her feet under the table. 

“Hi sweetheart, you looked good out there. It’s good to see you dance again.” Ice clinked in his glass as he sipped at the amber liquid. “I’m glad you were able to find some time to check on your ol’ dad.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Just cause I’m dating Dick again doesn’t mean I’m going to forget you. You want a dance?” 

“No, rest your feet.” He tapped her bare foot with his shod one. “Sarah used to do the same thing. She’d send me to the buffet for food while she rested her feet.”

Babs didn’t know what to say. Even after all these years, he didn’t talk about Sarah often. The three of them had made it through the No Man’s Land quarantine mostly unscathed until the end. What isolation, gang warfare, starvation, and an absent Batman hadn’t destroyed, exploded in one of Joker’s infernal machinations. Babs had almost reconnected with Dick as the quarantine ended and they rang in the New Year, but the stress of the year and the grief at the loss of her stepmother had still been too fresh back then. She placed her hand over her dad’s and squeezed it. In the end, all she could do was let her dad know that she’d always be there for him.

“Thanks.” He knew what she meant even without words. Throwing back the last of his drink, he searched for a change of conversation. “Nice little speech you gave when you entered. Though I’m not exactly sure how I’ve inspired you. I can scarcely figure out how the recorder thing works on my tv.”

“It’s a DVR, Dad. I can stop by tomorrow and show you how to set it up again.” She dragged her finger through the condensation on the side of her glass. It took all her considerable willpower to keep from spilling her secrets to him. How many times had she almost told him? Sometimes he looked at her in a way that she was almost certain he knew her secret. She’d asked Bruce once, but even he wasn’t certain. No one dared ask her dad what he knew. If they did, any intentional ignorance would be forced aside. Once he knew their identities for certain, he would no longer be able to shield them. He wouldn’t need to decide between perjuring himself and protecting her when the day finally came and he was asked point-blank, _“Do you know Batgirl’s identity?”_

Neither Babs nor her father met each other’s eyes. The unspoken issues shifted into a long lull in the conversation. Gordon cleared his throat. “Eh. Well, why don’t you bring Dick over with you and I’ll grill up some steaks and we can watch the Cubbies game.” 

“Sounds good.” Babs breathed a sigh of relief. 

Gordon tugged at the collar of his formalwear and surreptitiously undid the top button. “You know, the worse thing about these parties, the dress code.”

Babs raised an eyebrow. “I thought you always said the worse thing about these things was hobnobbing with the idle rich.” 

“True enough, but I figure I’ll have to get over that.” 

“What’s with the sudden change of attitude?”

He tapped his glass against the table, the ice cubes shifting. “I’m not blind Babs, things are different this time between you and Dick. If you two kids are going to make this work, I’m going to be spending more time with these folks whether I like it or not. Besides, they’re not all bad. No matter how he tries to hide it, Wayne has changed a lot over the years. Fatherhood suits him.” 

“Suits you too, Dad.” 

“Thanks Babs.” He signed so heavily his shoulders appeared to sag to his knees. “Looks like I’m back on duty. The mayor’s headed this way.”

“Love you. Good luck.” 

Gordon stood and squared his shoulders. He placed a kiss along the crown of her head. “Save me a dance before you head out.”

“Sure thing. See you later.” 

With a nod, Gordon headed towards the mayor before he could reach the table where Babs still sat. Alone in her own thoughts, Babs sought out Dick on the dance floor, but he wasn’t there. She caught a glimpse of Cass sitting at a table with Damian, Steph, and Tim. Each had a large slice of Alfred’s chocolate cake that definitely wasn’t being served at the party. They were laughing and Steph was attempting to get frosting on Damian’s nose. Across the room, a genuinely bored Bruce was talking to several Gotham industrialists. His expression only changed once a ‘disguised’ Selina arrived and entwined her arms around his waist. If she kept this up, he’d soon regain the reputation of playboy. 

All the present family was accounted for, except Dick. Where’d he go? Before she could go in search of him, she found him hurrying away from the patio. 

She tensed as Dick took a circuitous route to her. His brow was furrowed with a barely contained storm and his lips were pulled into a tight line. He carried his hand in a manner that suggested he’d injured it. She searched the room for the threat.

Something wasn’t right. If there’d been an attack, Dick would have made a beeline for Bruce. Instead he circled around the crowd, purposely avoiding Bruce’s attention. As he neared Babs, a false smile replaced the grimace. Slipping her shoes back on, Babs skirted around the edge of the room to meet Dick and pulled him into a roped off hallway. 

“What happened?” She kept her voice light while she held his hands and examined his injuries. The knuckles of one hand were split and the skin on both was starting to bruise. None of the bones appeared to be broken. Though he kept the smile pasted on his face, he flinched at her touch. “We should get you some ice.”

“Sorry Babs.”

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I know a quiet place we could neck.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and made a small groan as he flexed his fingers. “I also happen to know a quiet place where we could go punch something without turning our fists into hamburger.” 

This elicited a flicker of a genuine grin. “I’ll be okay. Just had a bit of a run in with Sinclair Moody.”

Babs groaned. “Don’t say that name. He made my life a living hell when I started at Gotham Academy.”

“Mine too.” 

“Wait. Did you run into Sinclair with your fist?” She dropped her arms and started searching the room. 

“Not exactly.” Dick tried to pass it off as if it were nothing. Babs wasn’t buying it. He cringed as he tightened his hand into a fist. “It was either punch the wall or punch Sinclair. I ended up punching the wall. Several times.”

“Explain.” She waited for him to elaborate. 

“Well, you see....”

 

 


	4. Lost: Temper

Dick spun Cass as the music came to an end. She grinned at him and in a fluid motion raised her flat hand up to her face, fingers near her chin, and brought it down—thank you. 

‘You’re welcome,’ he signed in response. ‘Another dance?’

‘Later. Dance with Babs, again.’ She studied the room. ‘Where’s Damian?’

‘Hurt ankle. Can’t dance.’ Dick pointed to the table where their little brother sat with an imperious expression on his face that kept most people at bay.

‘Cake?’ Cass’ eyes were wide with hope and innocence. It still amazed him there could be such simple joy in her. Like Damian, her earliest training had been in efforts to mould her into a living weapon. She’d been denied language in the belief it would make her a more ruthless fighter. In the end, she’d found a language of her own, one of graceful movement and a silence that spoke volumes. With the Waynes, she found friendship and family. And when he saw her face light up at the simple pleasures of life, he couldn’t deny her. 

‘Kitchen. Alfred’s cake. Share.’ 

Holding up her hand in the sign for ‘I love you’—middle and ring finger curled in with the remaining fingers extended—she skipped off towards the kitchen. Though she couldn’t see it, he responded in kind.

The whole rapidly signed conversation hadn’t taken long and his mind was still thinking in sign as he decided to take Cass’ advice and dance with Babs again.

‘Excuse me,’ he signed as he bumped into someone he scarcely noticed since his eyes and mind were trained across the room on Babs seated at a table with her dad.

“Grayson! Good to see you man,” the booming voice of Sinclair Moody stopped Dick in his tracks. He clapped Dick on the back. “Haven’t seen you in ages. You still in Boston?”

Dick barely managed not to roll his eyes. Sometimes he wished he had Damian’s freedom to be honest about how he felt. No, he had to be the family peacemaker, which meant putting on a good face in public. Sinclair had made Dick’s first years at Gotham Academy miserable. Now, he insisted on acting like they’d been best friends since school. “It’s Blüdhaven, not Boston. Great catching up with you. If you don’t mind, I have to get back to Barbara.” 

“Surely you don’t need to get back to her yet. Thought you knew, the trick is to keep them waiting, keep them wanting more.” Sinclair chuckled to himself, since Dick hadn’t found him remotely amusing. He tightened his grip on Dick’s shoulder and ushered him away from the crowd towards one of the open French doors that allowed guests access to the gardens. “Surely you’ve got a minute for an old friend. There’s business to discuss.”

Dick tensed, wishing he could run in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, Sinclair’s father and, by default, Sinclair were among Gotham’s nouveau riche. Their company had a wide array dealings with Wayne Enterprises. Thus Dick couldn’t simply brush Sinclair off like he really wanted to do. All he could do was follow Bruce’s example and feign boredom until he could escape. 

Sinclair pulled a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and offered one to Dick as he selected his own and lit it. Dick refused with a curt shake of his head. “Always the boy scout, weren’t you? Except when it came to the girls. Oh, the stories I heard.” He exhaled a long stream of smoke into Dick’s face. 

Dick batted at the smoke. “What do you mean?” 

“Don’t be like that. Everyone knows the stories of Dickie the playboy. You always got the hottest girls, even in school.”

“It was never like that Sinclair. Sure, I got along with the girls, because I treated them like _people_ , not objects.” Dick wondered if Sinclair got the message. From the blank look on the other man’s face, the answer was a resounding no. “As I said, I need to get back to Babs, I promised her another dance.”

Sinclair followed Dick’s gaze and found Babs. “Damn, didn’t think she could get any hotter. Do you think I might have a chance when you’re done with her?”

“What?” Dick was pretty certain he was hearing things. This whole conversation was not how adults talked. 

“I mean, this is a pity date, right? Trying to placate your old man by taking the commissioner’s daughter to the police charity gala. It’s a good scheme. Wish I’d thought of it. And now that she’s out of the wheelchair, she’s got to be antsy for some action, if you know what I mean.” 

Dick clenched the hem of his jacket and mentally repeated the rules for maintaining cover. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t keep the storm of rage from darkening his expression. 

Sinclair blinked, finally noticing Dick wasn’t amused. “Oh sorry. I didn’t realise you were slumming it again.”

“Excuse me?”

“Come on, you don’t expect me to believe this is _true love_. She has nothing to bring to your family. Can you imagine it? Marriage and red haired brats. Never.” Sinclair shuddered.

Except, Dick could imagine it. Since they’d started dating again, there’d scarcely been an hour he hadn’t imagined such scenarios. The dreams of a family with Babs weren’t even a recent thing. Over the years he’d often daydreamed about the future they might have. At last, the possibility felt closer to reality than dream. The thought of Sinclair sullying those dreams made his blood boil. 

“Oh man, you’ve got it bad.” Sinclair shook his head like Dick was the one to be pitied. 

“Sinclair,” Dick growled stopping the other man in his tracks. He couldn’t keep the traces of Batman out of his voice. “Barbara is worth more than you could ever imagine. I don’t want to hear you ever talking about her—or anyone else—in this manner ever again.”

As Dick spoke, Sinclair stepped back and raised his hand in a half-defence, half-surrender gesture that Dick had grown accustomed to seeing on the streets at night. In Sinclair’s eyes, Dick saw something he’d never seen there before—fear.

While it felt satisfying to put Sinclair in his place, Dick knew he was crossing lines that were meant to keep the various aspects of their lives separate. Dick took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He used every second the breath afforded him to reassume the role of carefree Dick Grayson. Before speaking again, he mentally repeated the actor’s age-old maxim. _The show must go on_. 

“Did you bring me out here, to talk about Barbara, or did you have something else in mind?” Dick’s words were still tight and forced, but the growl had left. He might be able to play the carefree layabout but that didn’t mean the anger was gone. 

Sinclair relaxed slightly, though he still appeared skittish. He glanced over his shoulder. Was he looking for witnesses or accomplices? “You’re right. As they say, business before pleasure.”

“Go on.” Dick summoned an image of the bored and bland Bruce listening to the other business magnates prattle on about share prices and board meetings. He mimicked Bruce’s posture and expressions. If Sinclair honestly had a business proposition, he’d be better off talking to Tim, or even Damian. 

“I wanted to show my dad I could take some initiative in the company, so I _invested_ in some _overseas_ opportunities.” 

“Good for you.” Dick drew out the response with a touch of a sardonic drawl to the words. 

“Well, you see, I’ve been having a bit of _trouble_ with my _deliveries._ I think the warehouses are... _you know_. Have you been having any _difficulties_ with Wayne Enterprises overseas business?” 

Dick didn’t like how Sinclair was choosing his words. They were too vague with too much emphasis on ambiguities. It had to be more than a coincidence that Sinclair was asking about warehouses and overseas ventures, especially after the incident that afternoon with Damian and Jason. 

“How would I know?” Dick shrugged and waved off the idea like it was below him. “I don’t live in Gotham anymore. Besides, I don’t have anything to do with the business.” 

“Right, right.” Sinclair stepped in closer to Dick. His lips twisted into the familiar sneer. “You’ve got little brothers, don’t you?”

Dick nodded. The more relaxed Sinclair appeared, the more the knots in Dick’s stomach twisted. He slipped into a defensive stance and positioned himself between Sinclair and the door. If Sinclair was going to go after his family, he would need to go through Dick first. 

Sinclair took another step closer to Dick. The stench of too much alcohol and overpriced cigarettes assaulted Dick’s senses and turned his stomach. 

He smirked at Dick’s discomfort. “It all makes sense now. Wayne had to keep adopting kids cause you were never good enough for him. Do you think he knew when he took in the circus freak just how big of a disappointment you’d be? Was that why he never adopted you? I bet that’s why you’re settling for the red head. She’s all you can get.”

Dick curled his hand into a fist. He didn’t care that Sinclair called him a freak, the bully had been doing that since they met. But to insult Bruce and Babs like that was a step too far. Most of the public didn’t know about the struggle they had gone through as Bruce tried to formally adopt Dick. Each attempt failed until Dick was an adult and no one had the ability to stop Bruce from naming Dick his son and heir. Despite all the setbacks, Bruce had never given up. That wasn’t something Dick took lightly.

And, Dick had already warned Sinclair about speaking in such a manner about Babs. No one settled for Barbara Gordon, one strived to follow her example. 

Anger was turning his vision red and he needed a way to vent. He swung at Sinclair. Enough of his rationale mind was still in control that he missed making any actual contact with his nemesis. 

It didn’t stop Sinclair from shrieking and running off inside. A large man with white blond hair and a caterer’s uniform stopped Sinclair and ushered him off towards a quiet corner before he could disrupt the party. 

Breathing hard, Dick fought the private battle to regain control. He couldn’t go back into the ballroom until he found a way to calm down. Babs was waiting. Finding a quiet corner hidden from view, Dick pummelled the wall until his knuckles bled.

Dick shook out his hands. They throbbed with a pulsing pain. They were both bruised, but only one was bleeding. Between the pain and the blood, he had siphoned off the edge of his anger. For the next couple of hours, he could resume the facade and pretend nothing was wrong. He cradled his injured hand and headed towards Babs who was now sitting by herself. 

 

“And, that’s how it happened.” Dick sighed. He sat on the kitchen counter while Babs finished cleaning and bandaging his wounds. 

“I’d say that’s a bit more than a run in.” She held his hand and pressed an ice pack over his skinned and bruised knuckles. “I think you would have been better off punching Moody.” 

“I really wanted to. But I wasn’t in uniform. And his dad works with Bruce. Besides, with all the press and police here....” He closed his eyes and leaned back his head. He hissed out a long breath through clenched teeth. 

Of the family, he would always be the one to maintain the facade the longest. He would play peacemaker and soothe over the bruised egos and raised tempers left in the others’ wakes. It would cost him personally, but he would play his role to the end. She couldn’t blame him. He was trying so hard to be the perfect son when every instinct drilled into him over the years demanded he take down the bullies.

“Dick, we could leave the party now. Turn around and tell our dads we’re leaving. They wouldn’t stop us.”

He shook his head and hopped off the counter. “No. Bruce needs me out there. Let me get my temper in check and we can head back.”

Babs placed a hand on his chest to stop him. He was boxed in between her and the counter. “No, he doesn’t need you there. I know Bruce can be about emotive as the brick wall you punched, but you must know he cares more about you than whatever he might lose.” 

“Does he?” He hadn’t meant to continue that conversation. Deep down, he knew Bruce cared. But after his confrontation with Moody, he was feeling off-kilter. He knew Moody was only saying those things to hurt him, to provoke a response. He’d nearly gotten what he wanted. Dick was starting to breathe hard again. 

“Breathe, Boy Wonder.” Babs stepped back giving him room. She held his hand and pressed a gentle kiss along his knuckles. “Of course Bruce cares. And it’s not only him. Your brothers and Cass, they all look up to you.”

“Okay,” he said. Her steady touch was grounding him, helping him focus. 

“Okay what?” She tilted her head to the side. 

His breath caught, but this time at the sight of her. He leaned in and whispered. “Let’s leave.”

Her smile left him weak in the knees. He allowed her to lead him deeper into the Manor. 

As they headed up the stairs towards the bedrooms, Dick stopped her. “I thought we were going to tell our dads we’re leaving. Surely the necking can wait that long.”

Babs rolled her eyes and smacked him playfully on the arm. “Two things. First, I left my purse up in your room, I want to fetch it before we leave. And second, Steph said she has a pair of shoes in her room that I can borrow. I refuse to wear these a moment longer than I need to. If we gather them first, we can leave directly from the party without anything distracting us. Before you know it, we’ll be back at my apartment and I’m sure I can come up with some way to distract you from over-dwelling on tonight.”

“Good plan,” he agreed. 

At the door that blocked the hallway to the family quarters from the rest of the house, Dick started to tap the security code into the keypad before he noticed the door was already unlocked. Most of the time the door was left open, but when the house was open to the public, the private quarters were locked down. They had too many secrets to risk random visitors roaming the halls. Like that caterer. Had someone forgotten to set the locks this evening?

Dick shook his head. When he had passed by Tim earlier, his brother had assured him that he’d checked the camera feed. The caterer had simply been lost, like he had said. 

“My purse is on your bed. If you want to grab it, I’ll head over to Steph’s room to find the shoes,” Babs said, drawing his attention back to her. 

He didn’t need to see the shoes to recognise the difference in height the heels gave her. In bare feet they were only a few inches apart in height, so even a small heel closed a significant portion of the difference. “You used to wear taller heels.” 

“I also used to be younger.” She closed her eyes and Dick knew she was thinking back. “And all the years in the wheelchair. My muscles atrophied and it’s taken a lot of work to get the strength back. During my physical therapy I was more concerned about my running and fighting skills than my heels wearing skills.”

“Then don’t wear them, I don’t care. Besides, when you’re not wearing heels, it’s easier to do this.” He spun her. She laughed and leaned against him. 

A click that didn’t come from the heel of her shoe tapping against the ground echoed down the hall. An almost silent hissing followed as the air grew heavy and carried a chemically sweet scent that left a bitter aftertaste. Instinctually, Babs and Dick turned so they stood back to back, scanning the hallway from all angles for intruders. 

All the bedroom doors were closed, leaving their potential attackers both nowhere to hide and too many places to hide. Dick couldn’t find any evidence of intruders in the brightly lit hall other than the hissing gas hanging heavy in the air. Babs scanned the hall, visually checking that the security cameras were on and undamaged. As far as she could tell, the cameras were working, but whatever Tim did, had either been bypassed or hadn’t been enough.

Without a word, Babs slipped out of her shoes and handed one to Dick. They might not have much of a heel, but it might give them an edge in an attack. Besides, there wasn’t much they could do as Dick and Barbara. They edged down the hall, back the way they had come. Someone had locked the door after they entered. 

“Don’t breathe,” Dick said through clenched teeth. The gas was growing heavier, weighing down their heads and limbs. His fingers refused to obey as he tried tapping the unlock code into the door. 

It was already too late. Babs was lightheaded and the world around her spun. Her brain clouded over and it was growing more and more difficult to string thoughts together. She slumped against Dick’s back while he slumped against hers. The shoe fell from her hand—or was it his hand—and skipped across the carpet until it landed against the wall a few feet away. Unable to lift her arms or legs, she crumpled to the ground in a heap. 

Without Babs to lean against, Dick followed her to the ground, half splayed over his girlfriend. His brain scrambled to piece together a plan, but he couldn’t fight the fog. Before losing consciousness, the last thought that ran through his brain chastised him, “Babs was right. We should have skipped the party. Who will tell Bruce we’re gone?”

Distant, muffled unknown voices spoke in disjointed sentences. “...two of them...?” “...the kid....” “Take them....”

 


	5. Lost: Son

It was Alfred who had to break the news to Bruce. He stood at the edge of Bruce’s peripheral vision while he waited to be noticed. 

“Pardon me, gentlemen, I’m afraid my butler has something urgent I need to attend to.” Bruce managed to sound both bored and put off at the same time while he stepped over to Alfred. “What’s the matter?”

Alfred gave a pointed stare at the others, who were still within hearing distance. “Sir, I believe the caterers have a question concerning the canapés.” 

“Canapés?” Bruce raised an eyebrow. Canapés were not on the menu. 

“Yes sir.”

“Hope there’s nothing wrong with the comestibles, ol’boy,” Mitchell Moody said. He had recently meandered into the conversation Bruce was having with several of the other Gotham business moguls and had prolonged the conversation by his added presence. Still, there was relatively little harm in the man. 

Unfortunately, the narrowing of Alfred’s eyes put Bruce on high alert. He waved a lazy hand towards the buffet table. “I’m certain they have only run out of the canapés and want to know if they should bring out the…” Bruce floundered as he grasped for a believable alternative. 

“The quiche, sir.” 

“There you have it. The quiche. This will only be a moment.” He turned to Selina, who’d been waiting for a dance. “Do you wish to accompany me?” 

“For quiche, no thank you. I will mingle with the rest of your guests.” She ran her perfectly manicured nails along his jaw line. He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to it before they headed off in opposite directions. 

Once Alfred found a suitably private corner, he stopped, drawing Bruce into the shadows. “I’m afraid, sir, there may have been an incident between young Mr. Moody and Master Dick. Several guests have informed me that the young men were involved in a verbal confrontation that escalated. It ceased when they saw Master Dick ‘take a swing at’ Mr. Sinclair.”

Bruce’s brain reeled with the ramifications of such an incident. More than what this meant for his business or social standing, Bruce was concerned for his son. Dick had a temper. Bruce had been on the receiving end of that anger more than once, but his son had been working hard to control his temper and set a good example for Damian. It wasn’t like Dick to punch someone as a civilian, especially at an event like this with reporters present. Jason, sure. It wouldn’t surprise him if someday Damian lost his cool. But, not Dick. Even though Dick felt the pressure of maintaining the facade more than the others, he excelled at playing the role. Usually Bruce didn’t need to worry about his oldest son on evenings like this. 

No, _if_ Dick had punched Sinclair, Bruce could only surmise two possibilities. Either Dick had finally come to the end of his patience with Sinclair’s bullying. Or, Dick was defending someone. Probably both. He needed to talk to Dick. 

Wait. “Alfred, do you have confirmation of the incident or simply hearsay? What actually happened?” 

“I’m afraid I cannot comment on the veracity of the claims. It appears as though Mr. Sinclair and Master Dick have both disappeared.”

“Where is Dick?” Bruce searched the room as though he could find something Alfred had not. It was a futile gesture and he knew it. 

“I have not yet been able to locate him. Or, Miss Barbara.” 

Bruce fought back the urge to sigh. Dick and Babs were adults, but this was not the moment for them to sneak off together. He needed to know Dick was all right and he needed to hear his side of the story. If he had to search the Manor to find the missing couple, he really didn’t want to walk in on them mid-embrace. 

“Have you considered asking the other children if they know anything concerning Master Dick’s whereabouts? I believe he was last seen dancing with Miss Cassandra before the incident.”

“Right. Now I need to find them.” Bruce started to scan the ballroom for his wayward children. 

“That should not be overly difficult, sir. They are all together.” Alfred pointed at a table on the far side of the room. 

Cass, Damian, Tim and Steph sat around a table laughing and talking while they ate what appeared to be Alfred’s chocolate cake. Though he would need to talk to them—again—about expected socialisation at public events, it warmed his heart to see his children getting along so well. The fact that Damian and Tim could share a table and laugh without trying to kill each other was a practical miracle in itself. He didn’t want that to end, the reminder could wait for another evening. 

Bruce worked his way around the edge of the crowd and tried calling both Dick and Babs. Both phones went to voicemail. While he did not want to go in search of them only to find them making out in a back bedroom, he also wished that was exactly what he’d find. The other more dire possibilities were beginning to fill his brain. Until he knew what was happening, he didn’t know which plans, which contingencies, he needed to enact. 

As focused as he was on all the possible scenarios, he hadn’t noticed until he was standing beside the table, more glowering than smiling, that Damian’s face was bruised. He’d known his son had arrived at the gala late, right after Dick and Babs. Unlike his older brother, the assassin trained boy had managed to avoid the reporters. Damian had tried to hide his injury and had probably succeeded with most of the guests, but Bruce was his father and he knew his children. For the moment, forgetting about Dick, he turned to Damian. With more growl in his voice than he intended, he asked, “What happened?”

In the presence of Bruce’s glower and the growl, all the children shifted into high alert. As Bruce questioned Damian, in near unison they wanted to know the same.

“What happened?”

Bruce sat down beside Cass. She slid a plate of cake over to him. ‘Eat,’ she signed. ‘Dick said share.’ 

‘Thanks.’ He signed before switching back to vocalising. There was no point beating around the bush and if they all didn’t start relaxing in the next few seconds, the guests would start to notice. He kept his voice low and forced a level of lightness into his tone that did not belie the seriousness of his words. “Two things, what happened to Damian’s face and has anyone seen Dick and Babs recently?”

Damian turned his face so Bruce would not see the hidden bruise. “It is a long story. Simply put, I was on a case this afternoon with Todd. Things did not go according to plan. I am fine.”

“We will discuss this later.” Bruce accepted the explanation for the present. It was neither the time nor place to delve for details That Damian had willing said as much as he did was an improvement. 

“Tt.” Damian dug his fork into his cake. “It’s not Todd’s fault.” 

Bruce’s eyes widened so far that his eyebrows practically touched his hairline. A glance at Tim told him he wasn’t the only one surprised by Damian’s statement. Neither said anything, not wanting to make a big deal out of it and cause the boy to change his mind. 

Instead, Tim replied to the second question. “I saw Dick and Babs heading towards the kitchen not long ago.” 

“I think they were heading back so Babs could change her shoes. She was asking earlier if I had a pair of flats here she could borrow.” Steph pushed bits of cake around the plate with her fork. 

“Dick hurt his hands and Babs’ feet ached.” Cass paused as she recalled more details. “Dick was angry.” 

“Hn.” Bruce’s brow furrowed. From the sound of it, Dick had punched something. Bruce still hadn’t determined whether or not it had been Sinclair. 

“Let me check something.” Tim pulled his phone from his pocket and rapidly tapped against the screen. His brow furrowed as he frowned. “That’s not right,” he muttered more to himself than anyone listening. 

He stood and headed for the family quarters without putting down the phone. The others were up and following him with little attempt to remain inconspicuous. Bruce was the first to catch up to Tim. “What’s not right?” 

Tim tilted the screen so Bruce could see. 

“That looks like the camera feed in the bedroom hallway.” It didn’t surprise Bruce that Tim had access. 

“It’s looped footage.” Tim switched the view to something that appeared to be computer code. He swore. 

“Do you want to let me in on what’s going on.”

“Earlier this evening, Babs asked me to increase the security on the family quarters. I increased the sensitivity of the facial recognition so that if anyone not in the family tried to make their way back, I’d be alerted. Whoever hacked our system, they hijacked the cameras before I added the security measures. I didn’t think to look back and missed the hack. If something happened...it’s my fault...” 

Bruce grasped Tim’s shoulder, stopping the young man before he started to spiral in a frenetic circle of self-blame and guilt. “Tim, we don’t know if anything has happened. And, even if it has, it wouldn’t be your fault.” 

Tim shrugged. He wasn’t ready to believe Bruce yet, but he wouldn’t cause a scene either. 

With at least one crisis temporarily quelled, Bruce proceeded to the next concern. “Why did Babs ask you to increase security?” 

“We discovered an outsider wandering the halls. He claimed to be a caterer,” Damian said as he caught up with his father. 

“Was he?” Bruce asked, though it wasn’t the only question on his mind, it was simply the most pressing. When had they all become so comfortable giving orders in his house? Why had no one informed him of the incident? 

Tim shrugged. “He’s been working with the catering ever since Dick escorted him back up front. I have background checks running, but nothing has come up beyond a few traffic violations.”

“All right, let’s run another check on him. The catering service too. Before hiring them, we ran the usual background checks. I want more intensive ones.” He glanced over his shoulder and realised Cass and Steph were also following him. If they wanted to maintain their cover, the whole family couldn’t disappear. Particularly with the gala being hosted at the Manor. “Tim, Steph, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to pull double duty. I need you to maintain a presence at the party while you continue to investigate the caterers. 

Tim groaned. Stephanie smiled and held out her hand. “Come, Sir Timothy. Let’s dance.”

Hand in hand, they headed back to the dance floor. Tim glanced back over his shoulder and mouthed, “I hate dancing.” 

Damian smirked. “Grayson ought to see this.”

“If Dick was here, we wouldn’t be doing this. And, he’d be on crowd duty.” Bruce placed a hand on Damian’s shoulder. “When were you going to tell me about your ankle?”

“When it interfered with my duties.” 

“I think I may need that report about this afternoon’s adventure sooner than later.” Bruce sighed. He pulled a comm from his pocket and placed it in his ear. “I want you to return to the gala and inform Alfred of the situation. Then, you are to throw a rather public fit. After Alfred sends you from the party, report to the Cave and run comms. While you’re down there, you will fill me in about what exactly you and Jason were doing.”

“Yes Father.” Damian turned and began his search for Alfred. 

Cass moved into the space by Bruce’s side. Though her strides were shorter than his, she kept pace while she waited for Bruce’s orders. 

“You’re with me. But first, you need to change.” 

 


	6. Lost: Time

When Babs regained consciousness, the first thing that crossed her mind was that her head hurt. A little obvious, so she tried again. The fog of drugged unconsciousness still clung to the periphery of her brain making it hard to think. Pushing aside the pain and discomfort, she forced herself to focus on taking the next breath until her head cleared enough to start working out the puzzle. 

It wasn’t long before she came to terms with the fact that her headache wasn’t going to go away by simply wishing it was so. With that determined, she turned her thoughts over to the next thing she needed to know. Who was she when she was knocked out? It wasn’t that she was suffering from amnesia and forgot who she was. Rather when you maintained multiple identities, knowing which one was kidnapped depended on how you responded. 

In case anyone was watching, she subtly scrunched her face. Her glasses pressed into the side of her head and nothing cut into her cheeks where the cowl would have pressed. Then she was Barbara. That meant waiting for a rescue.

“Babs,” Dick said in a breath of a whisper, so soft she had to be practically sitting on top of him to hear him. 

No, not on top. They sat back to back with their arms wrenched behind them. The zip ties bit into her wrists as Babs pulled at her bonds. The ties were too tight to escape from without dislocating a few joints. She could do it, but would rather keep that as a last option. Instead, she flexed her fingers trying to keep them from growing numb and falling asleep. Her legs were scrunched up nearly to her chest and her bare feet curled against a cool fiberglass surface. A tub?

“Dick, what’s the situation?” She responded with the same hushed whisper. 

“I don’t know yet. I just woke up and my heads killing me. Otherwise I’m in one piece.” He smacked his dry lips together in a series of small popping sounds. She tasted it too, whatever the gas was, it had left her mouth dry and tasting foul. 

She winced as she opened her eyes. The bright artificial light hurt and she wanted to reclose her eyes. Instead she waited for them to adjust.

From their surroundings, it appeared that their abductors had locked them in the bathroom of a cheap motel. A single bar of soap and a nearly threadbare towel laid on the counter beside the sink. The faucet dripped in a steady pattern. Faded orange splotches crept up the dingy grey shower curtain despite the fact the cheap plastic smelled of bleach. 

The tub faucet was inches from her knee. Her leg throbbed from where it had scraped against the faucet as their abductors had tossed her into the tub. Between the full skirt and the contortionist’s pose, she couldn’t discover the extent of the injury, though her shin itched in a manner consistent with drying blood. 

Through the walls, she heard a low consistent murmur. The pace of the conversation was the kind of banter only ever heard during a scripted performance. A television. If their abductors were nearby, they were silent. 

“Do you know who got us? Do you think Sinclair...?” Babs asked trying to piece the case together from their limited information.

“Nah.” Dick shifted behind her, testing his bonds. He stopped struggling as he came to the same conclusion she had. “This whole set up took more planning than he could have managed in the time between the confrontation and the abduction. Sinclair is an ass, but this isn’t his style. On the other hand, I could see the abductors using him as...” He struggled to find the right word. “....bait. If they wanted to know who knows what, they could have asked Sinclair to fish for information about the warehouse.” 

Babs agreed. She stretched her fingers and entwined them with Dick’s. He groaned as she brushed his split knuckles. 

“What do you think about the caterer? The one who was wandering the halls?” he asked.

She shrugged, bumping his shoulder with the movement. “He was certainly suspicious, but there could be more than one reason for that. He could have been checking security measures ahead of our abduction, or casing the Manor for a later robbery. Maybe he was planning an assignation with a guest or he was simply lost in the labyrinth of hallways like he said. We’re going to have to trust that when Tim realises we’re missing, he’ll look into the caterer’s history.” 

“Do you think they even know we’re missing?”

“Probably.” She had no idea how much time had been lost since they disappeared, but surely enough time had passed for the news of the confrontation to get back to Bruce. He would want to hear Dick’s side of the story, which meant seeking him out. When no one could locate either of them at the gala, someone would suggest checking the bedrooms. Hopefully they had left enough signs of a struggle. Between her father and Bruce, Babs was certain someone would have figured out they were missing and be on the search for them. 

Dick sighed. “I can never get used to this. I hate being forced into helplessness. Somehow I thought growing up meant I’d no longer be the boy hostage.” 

Babs leaned her head back against his shoulder. “We don’t know why they took us. Maybe they were after me and you just got caught up in it.” 

“That doesn’t make this any better.” He pressed against her back trying to momentarily relieve the pressure on his back and legs. “Do you have enough room over there? I think I could scootch an inch or so forward.”

Any space he could give her wouldn’t help at this point. Her legs had gone beyond numb. She couldn’t even feel the prickling sensation that danced up and down her legs. “I’ll manage. There’s not enough room in here for either of us and your legs are longer. Keep...”

The door of the outer room banged open signalling a new arrival. Dick and Babs ceased their whispered conversation and sagged back against each other feigning unconsciousness. Behind their backs where no one could see, they linked fingers—the only way they could hold each other. Babs scarcely needed to strain to follow the conversation through the thin walls. 

“Boss,” a heavily accented voice greeted the newcomer. She would need more of a sample, but something in the accent reminded her of Eastern Europe. 

“You’re back earlier than expected. I take it that your mission was successful.” The Boss said, or so Babs presumed he was the boss. His voice possessed a strong Gotham dialect and carried a familiar timbre, which she couldn’t yet place. 

A third voice entered the conversation. He had the same accent as the first, but spoke more slowly with a bit of a nasal quality to the words. “We did what you said. We got the first one back once the party was in full swing. He was injured just like you said he’d be.”

“Did you make the call?” the Boss asked. 

“No. Thought we’d wait for you.” 

Babs felt Dick’s muscles tense along her back while hers did the same. They leaned towards the door as though the inches would make the words clearer. How their abductors handled the call would give Dick and Babs a clue to their eventual fate.

“Good. Good.” The Boss’ voice grew louder as he made his way back towards the bathroom. “How’d it go?”

“They went down real easy, just like you planned. Not a peep since,” the slower voice said. 

“They? You already got the bodyguard. Why would he need a guard in his own house?” The volume of the Boss’ voice ought to have been clearly heard in the neighbouring rooms. But, it wasn’t the volume that set Babs’ nerves on edge. From what the Boss was saying and evidence garnered from Damian’s and Dick’s earlier stories, both she and Dick had been wrong. Neither of them had been the intended target of the abduction.

“Damian,” Dick breathed, a whisper more felt than heard. 

“Not a guard, a woman,” the first man said.

“What did you numbskulls do? We can’t afford to screw this up.” This time the intensity of the Boss’ yell made Babs jump. She recovered from the start and slumped back into a faux unconsciousness before the bathroom door crashed open and collided with an often patched spot of drywall. “Wake up.”


	7. Lost: Evidence

Red Hood worked the lock on the office door of the warehouse he’d investigated earlier in the day with Damian. They hadn’t learned much more than the place was shady, which he already knew. 

Two months ago he started following a ring of human traffickers. It started with an investigation concerning an influx of drugs on the streets when it became something more. Whoever they were, they weren’t just bringing in drugs, but people as well. Mostly girls. From the information he’d obtained from his street informants, he traced several of the girls back to Eastern Europe. Unfortunately, from Gotham he hadn’t been able to narrow down the leads any more than to half of Europe without needing to take a flight overseas and employing a little legwork. By the time he started placing the pieces, the trail on the trafficking had grown cold while the leads on the drugs were only heating up.

In an unlikely twist, he discovered the drugs were being shipped through a subsidiary of Wayne Enterprises. Even in his darkest days, Hood had never considered Bruce would legitimately be involved with either drug or human trafficking. Which meant, someone was using Wayne Enterprise’s legitimacy to cover for their illicit transactions. Since Bruce hadn’t shut it down in either of his personas, Red Hood wondered if it meant Bruce was using the situation to follow the leads back to the source, or if it meant he was unaware of what was happening at the street level of his company. Whichever was the case, Hood had followed the evidence back to Gotham and he wasn’t going to let it rest. 

Damian had been in the Cave when Jason had arrived to ‘borrow’ some surveillance equipment. The boy had insisted on tagging along when he learned what Jason was doing. While he regretted Damian’s injuries, he hadn’t minded the company. He had an inkling that Damian had been feeling the same need for companionship.

Though, now Red Hood needed to solve this case before the other Bats and Birds in town tracked him down after they found out he’d been responsible. He particularly wanted this done before big bad daddy Bat learned his baby bird had been hurt. If he solved the case, Bruce might not blame him for the boy’s injuries. Never mind that Damian was more than eager to join him on a supposedly simple surveillance mission. Besides, when was the last time the brat needed anybody else’s help to get into trouble? No, the moment the job went south, Jason knew he’d be the one to receive the blame. 

The office door swung open on creaking hinges. A projectile whizzed past his head, close enough to nick the finish on his hood. The quarrel hadn’t missed its mark. That had been a warning shot. Before the arrowhead had a chance to become imbedded in the wall behind him, Red Hood had drawn his guns and had his assailant in his sights. She wore a purple mask and costume with a cross at her throat and a crossbow in her hands. He stepped into the room without lowering his guns. 

“Guns in Gotham and not being hounded by the Bat. You must be the Red Hood.” She set another bolt into her crossbow. 

“Heh. And I thought the red hood was kind of a giveaway,” Red Hood deadpanned. He kept his gun trained on the other intruder. “A crossbow and a chip on her shoulder against Batman, you can only be the Huntress.” 

They kept the distance of the room between them. Neither lowered their weapons.

“What’s your business here?” Huntress asked.

“Following some leads. Drugs, with a possible connection to human trafficking. What’s yours?”

“Human trafficking, with a possible connection to drugs.” She perched on the edge of the desk and studied him with a critical eye. “The mob families are trying something new. They’re bringing in new blood.” 

“Eastern Europe?” That might explain a few things.

She nodded. “Sure, from there and anywhere they can find non-metas desperate enough to take up a life of crime. They’re even poaching talent from other organisations. It’s clear they want to shake up Gotham and give the Families a new foothold against all the costume crazies that run this town.” 

“That’s not a nice way to speak about the Bat.” 

Huntress smirked. “Looks like we might be able to work together. Seems that we’re after the same information.”

“Fine.” Red Hood only knew her by reputation and from the files on the Batcomputer. Batman didn’t trust her. The rest, they had all worked with her at various levels. And, he had to admit, he liked her attitude. “Weapons down?”

“Count of three,” she countered. 

With their weapons stowed though at easy reach for a quick draw, they searched the office. 

Red Hood rifled through the desk drawers for anything of note. Unless he was interested in collecting reams of blank paper, the most interesting thing he found was a half empty package of cigarettes. He didn’t recognise the brand, but that wasn’t very surprising since all the labels were written in Cyrillic. He supposed it meant he was on the right track. Huntress flipped through the Rolodex and pulled cards out seemingly at random. 

“So, how’d you discover the mob connections?” he asked as he moved to the computer. 

Huntress scoffed. “You Bats don’t talk much do you? I make it my business to know what the Families are up to at all times.”

“Hmph.” He didn’t want to talk about it. The computer beeped when he typed in the incorrect password for the third time. “Since you know so much, think you can access the computer?”

She glanced over his shoulder. “No. I already tried. Though, I think we both know someone who could do it without a problem.”

“Batgirl?” It wasn’t much of a guess. After all, at one time she’d been the information broker for the majority of the superhero community. And the leader of the Birds of Prey, of which Huntress was a member.

“I was thinking Oracle, but sure, Batgirl. In the end, it doesn’t matter what we call her, she’s not answering.” 

Red Hood grunted. That wasn’t like her. Then again, he knew she was at that fancy shindig Bruce was hosting at the Manor. The one to which he hadn’t been invited. Not that he wanted to go. But, you know, an invite would have been nice. “Guess we’ll have to stick to the paper records.”

Huntress broke the lock on the filing cabinet. They hadn’t used anything more robust than the simple lock that had come with the cabinet. 

He grabbed the trashcan and poured its contents out over the desk. Menus for nearby take out joints. Scratch paper covered in doodles instead of notes. An address for an abandoned building in Little Odessa. Ash and cigarette butts. Receipts for several residential motels. “You think the out of town help might have arrived?”

She grabbed a stack of files from the cabinet. “Arrived? They’ve already set up shop. What do you have there?” 

“Motel addresses. They’ve paid up for the month.” Though the receipts were crumpled and stained with coffee grounds, the majority of the addresses were still legible.

“Want to check them out?” She gestured at the computer. “Grab the hard drive. We’re not going to find anything else here. Looks like they’ve been spooked, they’ve already started cleaning out the place. Seen the warehouse floor yet? There’s big gaps on the shelves where they’ve started moving product.”

“Yeah, my bad.” Red Hood froze and held up his hand, prompting Huntress to wait. The Batcomm pinged in his helmet. He turned up the volume and listened as Damian informed him that Dick and Babs had been abducted. “Shit.” 

“Girlfriend troubles? Miss your curfew?” Huntress balanced on the windowsill, ready to head out. 

Hood ignored the comment. “How well do you know...the others?”

A smile curled at her lips that suggested more than she was willing to say. “Better than you might expect. Who’s in trouble?”

He hesitated. It wasn’t his place to out the identities of the others and her answer didn’t exactly tell him how much she already knew. Could he trust her? Did it matter? It wouldn’t be long before the media circus caught wind of the abductions and it’d all be public knowledge. At least on the civilian side of things. As in any kidnapping, time was of the essence and Bruce wouldn’t be able to leave his party and begin the search himself. Nor would he be able to send the others out, not without drawing attention to their absence. With his Golden Boy missing, the forced inaction had to be gnawing away at Bruce. It would be driving the old man crazy. 

“So, we’re playing coy?” Huntress tilted her head to the side and studied him like she was looking past the uniform and to the man behind the mask. “If it helps, the Birds’ fearless leader didn’t exactly keep her identity secret from the team. And, let’s just say, I was on more than first name basis with Nightwing. He might be tight lipped as the rest of you Bats, but I’m not an idiot. As for the rest, it’s not so hard to figure out who’s who once you know a few. Except for you, you’re still a bit of a mystery.” Stepping close, she flicked her forefinger against his hood.

He jerked his head away, preferring to remain a mystery. At least for now. For the moment, her admission settled it. He didn’t need to bother hiding his connection to the others. “Barbara Gordon and Dick Grayson were abducted from a gala at Wayne Manor.”

“Shit.” Huntress echoed Red Hood’s sentiments exactly. The look in her eyes confirmed that she knew exactly who they were. “We’ve got to find them. Where do we start?”

“Let’s play a hunch.” He brandished the motel receipts. 

“As good of a start as any. See you there.” She was out the window and on her way by the time Red Hood followed her out. 

 


	8. Lost: Facade

“Jim, we need to talk.” 

Commissioner Jim Gordon looked up from his conversation with the deputy mayor as Bruce Wayne headed straight for him with an air of assumed command. Wayne hadn’t even realised that he’d called him Jim or that his voice carried more growl than was typical—for Wayne. Gordon hesitated. There were some lines they didn’t cross. There were things he didn’t allow himself to acknowledge because once he did, the boundaries became murkier. Still, if Wayne was breaking the unspoken protocol, Gordon knew something was wrong. 

“A moment, Mr. Wayne.” Gordon turned to the deputy mayor who hadn’t noticed anything was amiss. “Ms. Williams, call me tomorrow and we can schedule a meeting to discuss your ideas later this week. I’m afraid I haven’t yet thanked our host for his support of the police department.” 

Gordon noticed the exact moment Wayne realised he’d slipped character and pulled himself back into the billionaire persona. Though he was all false smiles and vapid posturing, Wayne’s eyes were a roiling storm of emotion. An icy sinking presentiment settled in Gordon’s gut as he followed Wayne away from the crowd. Forcing back the urge to demand an immediate explanation, Gordon put on his own mask of ignorance. “So, Wayne, I suppose I ought to get used to you calling me Jim. Family gatherings might get a little awkward if you insist on calling me Commissioner.” 

“Hn.” Wayne’s shoulders twitched. For a brief moment the flicker of a genuine smile replaced the false one before both were extinguished and exchanged for the scowl Gordon would recognise anywhere. 

“Bruce, what’s wrong?” Gordon clapped a hand on the other man’s shoulder stopping him as they crossed into one of the roped off hallways. His breath caught in his chest as that dark presentiment forced its way to the surface. “Is it Babs?”

Wayne nodded. “Dick and Barbara are missing.”

“Are you certain? They could be.... They may have wanted some alone time.” Gordon tried to force a layer of normalcy to the situation, like the situation could be solved by a mundane explanation. But, no matter how he tried, he couldn’t convince himself of anything other than the worse possible outcomes. He wasn’t going to lose her too.

“As certain as I can be without a full investigation. I was alerted to an issue with my security and when I went to check on it, I found that the hallways in the family quarters contained traces of some kind of gas. Further evidence points to their abduction. I want them found.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and showed Gordon a picture of the hallway. Babs’ shoes were strewn against opposite walls and Dick’s phone was abandoned near the center of the picture.

“When did this happen?” Gordon was pulling out his own phone and dialling. 

“We’re not certain. Sometime in the last thir—”

Gordon held up a hand silencing Wayne as his call was answered. “Montoya, get Harvey and meet me at the...”

“East corridor.” Wayne supplied the missing information while he tapped a text into his own phone. 

“...yes, the east corridor......I don’t know. Ask the butler....Yes...Alright. Bye.” Gordon disconnected the call and turned back to Wayne. “Walk me through what you know.”

Before Wayne could respond, Tim raced down the hallway towards the men. As he ran, he typed into a large phone—or was it a small tablet? Gordon was never quite certain these days. 

“Bruce....Bruce....I got....something.” Tim stopped beside them and nodded to Gordon. “Commissioner.” 

“Tim. What do you have?” Gordon peered over the boy’s shoulder at the screen. 

Tim shot a quick glance at Wayne before proceeding. Wayne gave the briefest of nods. They thought they were being subtle. “Since the cameras in the hall were compromised, I decided to check the extent of the damage and see if any of the other camera feeds had picked up what had happened. Here.” He tilted the phone screen so both men could see the camera footage of the inside of the elevator. Clearly unconscious, Dick and Babs slumped haphazardly against each other and the wall of the elevator. Two thugs dressed in caterer’s uniforms argued with exaggerated hand gestures and what would be loud voices if there had been sound. 

The thugs weren’t being careful about the cameras so Gordon had a good view of the men and recognised them immediately. Since their arrival in town, they’d both been under surveillance by the organised crimes unit. Unfortunately, the men had the habit of slipping their surveillance more often than Gordon liked. The one that appeared to take the lead was short with the start of a paunch and had a fringe of brown hair around his balding head. His companion was tall and muscular with an oft broke nose and white blond hair. Two of the Maroni mob’s newest recruits. “Shit.”

When Wayne looked up from the screen, a wave of genuine confusion crossed his face. “Do you know these men?”

“Don’t you?” Now Gordon was crossing lines, but, dammit, his daughter was in trouble and he didn’t have time for the masquerade. A little over two months ago, Batman and Robin had started the process of dismantling the mob’s latest scheme to reclaim Gotham. The new and ‘improved’ Maronis had been behind the drugs for guns racket between Gotham and Blüdhaven. Since then, there’d been evidence of Bat-involvement in practically every aspect of the related cases—from the series of warehouse fires in Blüdhaven to the discovery of a human trafficking ring in Gotham. Both cases were connected to the Maroni mob and part of the Family’s plans to regain a foothold in their former territory. 

It was unlikely that Bruce Wayne would know of this, but surely his alter ego... Gordon hesitated in his contemplation. Could it be that the children were taking the lead on this case without informing their mentor? 

Tim’s phone beeped drawing the attention of all present back to the screen. The boy frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose before tapping a series of commands into the phone. It flickered as new information filled the screen. It appeared to Gordon as a log. Each entry was recorded in a code he couldn’t decipher at a glance.

“There’s no cameras in the bedrooms,” Wayne explained, “so we put sensors in the doors and windows incase something like this ever happened.” 

Tim scrolled through the log. “I don’t think Dick and Babs were the intended targets. The only room that was accessed during the last hour—hour and a half—was...Damian’s.” 

Wayne soundlessly began working his mouth as he tried to figure out how to respond. Gordon was quicker on the uptake. He’d witnessed the boy throw a public fit and be sent from the gala by the butler moments before Wayne had arrived with the news. “Where’s Damian now? He’s clearly not in his room.”

“Damian....Damian probably went to the...” Wayne brushed his hand against his ear in an effort to appear nonchalant, but Gordon recognised it as the telltale sign of using a comm. “...the den.”

Gordon nodded. “If he was the target, we need to keep him with us. The others too.”

How often had they gone through this charade with the other boys? Especially with Dick...and now, Babs. Gordon’s heart screamed to take more direct action. No, he needed to trust his people. Where were Montoya and Bullock? 

As if answering to the mental summons, Harvey panted as he followed Alfred down the hallway. Once Harvey had been delivered, Alfred returned in the direction of the ballroom without a word, probably on another secret assignment from Wayne.

Harvey eyed Wayne suspiciously before turning to Gordon. “What’s the problem, boss?” 

“Where’s Montoya?”

“Er, well, she got caught up with another incident. Apparently there was a confrontation between a guest and....” Harvey shuffled in place and gestured helplessly between Wayne and Gordon. “...er, Richard Grayson. There’s some confusion about whether or not it got physical. She’s trying to sort things out.”

Wayne’s grimace tightened. He began to explain before Gordon could question him about this missing piece of information. “I was getting to that. There was an incident with Sinclair Moody before the abduction. I still am trying to discern the details. ”

It was Gordon’s turn to grimace. Sinclair was well known to him—first as his daughter’s tormentor during school and now as a young man who thought the rules didn’t apply to him. 

“Abduction?” Harvey didn’t miss a beat. “Who?”

“Richard Grayson and Barbara,” Gordon said as Tim went back to the screen with the camera footage of the elevator scene. 

“How do you want us to handle this?” Harvey was ready to play this however his boss wanted. 

Gordon paused for a moment to think through the situation. “We need to question all the guests and staff. See if they saw or heard anything. I want you and Montoya to take lead”

“Boss? I thought you’d want to take charge.” 

“Wayne and I need to wait for possible ransom calls.” Gordon turned back to Wayne. “Is there a secure place where we can wait for the calls? And, we need to keep your sons with us. To make certain no one attempts another abduction.” 

“My study will suffice,” Wayne said tersely. He placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder and steered the young man down the hall. “Bring your brother to the study.”

None of them mentioned Wayne’s absent daughter. 

Bullock harrumphed. “Guess I’ll be getting back to the ballroom. All those muckety-mucks won’t be happy about this. I’ll keep you informed.” 

As much as Gordon wanted to be out there leading the search for his daughter, he knew that he was leaving the investigation in good hands with Bullock and Montoya. He trusted them with his life. Meanwhile, he needed to give the appearance of keeping the remaining Waynes safe, whether they liked it or not. 

 

` 


	9. Lost: Connections

Steph watched him as he worked his way around the room, taking names, contact information, and recording statements. He was getting nearer to her location with each interview completed and if things continued at this pace, he’d be the one to record her statement. The particular ‘he’ in question was Detective Nick Gage. She hadn’t interacted with him since she’d returned the role of Batgirl to Barbara. Was it weird the she missed their...banter?…partnership?

“Hi Nick....erm...Officer. I mean, Detective...sir...,” Steph babbled as Nick stepped forward to question her. In her mind she could hear Babs—Oracle—cringe on the other end of the line. Only, Babs wasn’t there. Even if she hadn’t been abducted, Babs hadn’t run comms on a regular basis for a long time. She had stepped aside and left the role to Wendy—Proxy. Only, Wendy was no longer there either. The only ones listening to her babble were Cass and Bruce and....

“Steph, relax,” Tim whispered through the comms. Without the masks and cowls, they didn’t have access to the private channels. Everyone heard everything. 

Detective Nick studied Steph. “You seem familiar. Have we met?”

“Oh. No. Just one of those faces...”

Tim sighed and Damian ‘tt’-ed. 

“O-kay.” Nick shook his head, clearing the connection he hadn’t quite made. “Can I get your name, miss?” 

“Stephanie Brown.” Steph rattled off her name and contact information all the while wishing that when Nick eventually looked her up, the first thing he found wouldn’t be her connection to her father. He’d write off any sense of familiarity to the fact she was Cluemaster’s daughter. Secret identity-wise, she knew it was probably better that way, but still, it would be nice if he didn’t immediately connect her to a third-rate villain. 

“Spoiler. Need help.” Black Bat’s voice was an urgent hiss in her ear. 

Steph started at the sound of her alter ego’s name and resisted the urge to touch the comm in her ear. 

“Black Bat, status?” It was Bruce who responded in a tight whisper. While sequestered in the study with Babs’ dad, he was even less able to come to Black Bat’s aid than Steph was. There was only one reason Steph hadn’t snuck out of the ballroom yet. She was on the guest list. If her information didn’t appear among the gathered statements, someone would start asking questions about what she’d been doing with her time. Not everyone believed that, in her case, the apple had fallen _very_ far from the tree. 

“Got him. Need information.” 

Over the comms, Bruce sputtered which abruptly turned into a coughing fit. Steph winced at the harsh sound. 

“Miss?” Nick said, drawing her attention back to the present. Right, she was being questioned by the police, probably best not to space out. “Are you alright?”

Her brain whirled. She needed to get out of there. Black Bat needed her help. Well, Spoiler’s help. 

Steph took a deep breath, forcing herself to think through the situation instead of just acting. With a quick scan of the room, she realised there was only one way out. Tim was going to kill her. 

“Not really.” Steph willed a certain amount of anxiety into her voice and gestures.

“I’m a friend of the family. The Waynes. And, I came to the gala with my boyfriend. He went to talk to his dad...and he never came back. Is he okay?”

Nick frowned. She could see him calculating the possibility of another missing person. “Who’s your boyfriend?” 

“Tim Drake.” 

“Steph...” Tim groaned. There wasn’t much he could say over the comms. 

They never really talked about the status of their relationship. Not exactly together and not exactly apart. Neither of them was dating anybody else, so... Anyways, none of that really mattered at the moment, it was simply an excuse to get her out of the ballroom. 

“Give me a moment.” The tension in Nick’s shoulders eased slightly as he turned and made a call into the Commissioner. 

In the moment of semi-privacy, Steph bowed her head and spoke into her comm. “Black Bat, who did you get?”

There was a drawn out pause as Black Bat sought for the correct word. They all knew she disliked the comms, preferring to speak (when she needed to) in person. Over the comms she couldn’t read the others’ faces and movements. At last, Black Bat came up with the words she needed even if they weren’t exactly the right ones. “Food person.”

“Ah.” Steph understood. Black Bat had caught up with the caterer and needed to get information out of him. Something in the man’s demeanour had told the silent vigilante that this interrogation required a more subtle approach than violence. She needed someone who understood how to wield words as a tool. With Nightwing out of commission, that left Spoiler. 

“Okay, Black Bat, where are you?”

“Pantry. Kitchen.” 

“I’ll be there soon.” Steph slid back into distraught mode as Nick returned his attention to her. 

“Miss Brown, I talked to the Commissioner. Your boyfriend is in the study with his family. Commissioner Gordon said you may wait with them.” 

“Thank you.” Steph gave Nick a shaky smile and followed him from the room. Sigh. So much for any chance at reconnecting with the Detective anytime soon. 

 

Though Detective Nick was supposed to be escorting her to the study, Steph had clearly taken the lead. After all, she knew the Manor like it was her own home, while this was his first time beyond the imposing front gates. Seriously, who needed three sitting rooms, two parlours, and a drawing room (which Babs had informed her was not for actual drawing...weird)? No wonder newcomers were perpetually getting lost when they were permitted beyond the foyer. 

The further they made it into the house, the harder Nick had to try to remain professional. He couldn’t help but gawk at the pricey furnishings and original artworks. She could almost guess what he was thinking. Even now, after all this time, she could still find herself overwhelmed by the extent of Bruce’s wealth. How could one person have so much? 

A stilted silence filled the air between them as they continued towards the study. It wasn’t that she couldn’t think of anything to say to him; instead, there was too much she wanted to say. Steph had to bite her tongue to keep from spilling that she knew more about him than she ought. She wanted to know how he’d been doing since she last worked a case with him. 

“Miss Brown, did you attend Gotham University a couple of years ago? During the Reaper incident.” Detective Nick broke the silence in a way Steph hadn’t expected. He had that tight pained expression on his face that appeared whenever the Reapers were mentioned. _Still atoning_....

_Yes, I helped you solve the case._ No, she couldn’t say that even though it rattled loudly in her brain. She needed a nice innocuous answer. Partial truth, she decided. “Yes. That was my freshman year.”

“Hmm. Maybe that’s why you seem familiar. Did we meet during the course of the investigation?”

“That’s one way of putting it...” she said without thinking. _Inside voice_ , she chastised herself again. _Babs where are you when I need you?_ “Erm, I mean, it’s possible. It’s a big campus...”

Before he could comment about her inane response, Steph stopped outside the study. “Here we are.” 

Detective Nick knocked on the door and they waited for Commissioner Gordon to answer. 

 


	10. Lost: Chances

The bathroom door crashed open with a sound like a gunshot. Dick’s head lolled to the side, hiding the fact that he’d started at the sudden violent intrusion. Even with his eyes closed, Dick could sense the presence of the mobster towering over them.

“Wake up,” the mobster growled. He leaned into the tub and turned on the shower.

Cold water rained down on the couple. Babs gasped and spluttered. Dick felt her spine go rigid against his as he shuddered at the sudden cold and wet. As bad as it was for him, it had to be worse for her. She sat directly under the shower head and her dress had left her arms bare. 

“Where are we? What do you want?” Dick groaned, attempting to behave as though they had been unconscious the whole time since their arrival. Blinking at the overly bright light, he shied away from looking directly at the mobster. He’d seen enough to notice the resemblance to the Maroni family, but he wasn’t able to place which one he was. He appeared younger than Dick and carried the arrogance of untried youth in every movement. _Junior_ , Dick mentally dubbed him. 

“Idiots.” Maroni Junior hissed through clenched teeth as he grabbed Dick by the hair and studied his face. Dick kept his gaze trained on the floor.

As Junior tried to do the same to Babs, Dick heard her glasses clatter against the floor of the tub. She shifted as though she might pick them up and put them back on her face despite her bound hands. Instead there was a crack of glass and plastic. Babs swore and muttered under her breath, “I’m practically blind without them.”

Dick bit his tongue to keep from inadvertently contradicting her. If they thought she couldn’t see them, it might buy her more time. 

Junior swore in Italian and stalked out of the bathroom to where his underlings waited. “Do you idiots know how bad you’ve screwed up?”

“Boss?” A tall man with fair hair peered through the doorway at Dick and Babs trying to figure out what he’d done wrong. With his head still bowed, Dick studied their abductor’s reflection in the mirror. In an instant, he recognised the man. He was the caterer who had ushered Sinclair away from the party. 

Junior grabbed the tall man by the collar and shoved him into the bathroom. “Get them out of there.” 

The lackey none too gently manhandled first Dick, then Babs out of the tub and perched them along its edge. “Where do you want them?”

“That’s fine.” Junior raked his fingers through his gelled hair. “Vitali, Emil, can either of you tell me what you did wrong?”

Dick leaned forward. With his hands still bound behind his back there wasn’t much he could do besides listen. He glanced over at Babs to see how she was doing. She blinked and squinted into what appeared to be the middle distance, but Dick was certain she was taking in every detail of their captors and their surroundings. 

“We did what you said. Spoofed the cameras. Get the Wayne boy. He’s a Wayne.” The shorter lackey pointed at Dick. 

“Does he look like a boy?” Junior was practically foaming at the mouth. 

The tall one squinted at the couple and shrugged. He ticked off the points on his fingers as he examined Dick. “Yes. You said, Wayne boy. Dark hair. Injured. First one to leave the party. Our contact confirmed he is a Wayne boy and he was the only one injured.” 

Junior struck his palm against his forehead and shook his head. “Does he look like the child who was at the warehouse this afternoon? Does she look like his bodyguard?” 

“How would we know? We were not at the warehouse, were we? No, Emil and I were setting up your new headquarters.” The shorter goon—by process of elimination, Vitali—pulled himself up to his full height and stabbed a finger into Junior’s sternum. The more he spoke the angrier and more expressive he got. “That is why you only sent the two of us. How were we to know which Wayne boy you wanted? They all look alike.”

“Amateurs. I told Uncle...”

“I’m not an amateur and I don’t need to listen to this. That mobile phone signal you had me triangulate this afternoon, I found it again at Wayne Manor. Could you do that? We followed it to one of the bedrooms. There was no way that bedroom belonged to a child. I know because I have nephews and their rooms are never that austere.” Vitali turned to leave the villain huddle gathered in the space between the bathroom door and the indentation against the far wall pretending to be a ‘closet.’ “Your boss paid me good money to leave my Family and join yours ‘cause I got skills you cannot even dream of. Either treat me with the respect I deserve, or I tell your uncle you’re not ready yet.” 

Junior growled and gestured back into the bathroom. “Do you know who that girl is? She’s the police commissioner’s daughter. That’s a hassle we don’t need.”

“But....”

“We weren’t looking for hostages. After the blunder this afternoon, we needed to silence the brat and his body guard before they spilled what he discovered.” Junior sighed. 

Dick inhaled a short sharp breath. His stomach churned and he had to fight to keep from revisiting its contents. He had hoped he was wrong about Damian being the target. Babs pressed her shoulder against his. She still shivered from the wet and cold, but she didn’t let that stop her from doing what she could to support him. For the first time that evening, he was glad he was the one taken, if it meant Damian was spared. Though it definitely didn’t bode well for their fates. 

“The car you brought them here in, do you still have it?” Maroni Junior reentered the bathroom and yanked the shower curtain close behind Dick and Babs. The rings squealed along the rod. 

Vitali glowered at Junior. “Yes. We moved it behind the building after we brought them in.” 

“Bring it around to the door. We’ll dump it and their bodies at the same time.” 

“You said nothing about killing...” Emil appeared a bit green about the gills. 

Junior slapped the man. “Do as I say, or you’ll be joining them next.” 

The two lackeys grumbled as they scurried out of sight. This left Dick and Babs alone with Junior. 

“Surely we can come to an arrangement. We don’t know anything.” Babs voice quavered as she spoke. She blinked back tears and her lips trembled. If he didn’t need to pretend to be terrified, Dick would have told her he was proud of her performance. He knew very well that she could take down all three of them, but they didn’t know that. If they thought her frightened and helpless, they’d underestimate her. And, boy, would they be in for a surprise when she got free. 

“No. No arrangements. Sorry. This whole job has been a bust since Batman took down the trade between here and Blüdhaven. Things have gone downhill since. Best just to set it all to the proverbial fire and start over.” He headed for the door. “Wait here and don’t do anything stupid.” 

Dick and Babs exchanged sidelong glances. Junior really was new at this. Between the three mobsters, they’d given a pretty complete villains monologue, revealing more of their plans and guilt than they had intended. And, since Junior had already given them a death sentence, there was nothing stupid left for them to do. Actually, the only stupid thing would be for them to sit there and do nothing. Fortunately, only one of them needed to do the next step. 

“I’ll do it,” Dick whispered.

Babs raised an eyebrow and gave the slightest shake of her head. “No, me.” 

“My hands are already messed up. No use for both of us....”

“Fine,” she murmured. Taking advantage of their temporary privacy, she kissed him. “I love you.” 

“I know.” Dick flexed the fingers of both his hands and took a deep breath preparing for the pain. He closed his eyes and pictured Babs as they flirted in her kitchen before the gala and felt her touch as they danced across the ballroom floor. The mental images shifted to Damian and Jason. His brothers had stumbled across something bigger than any of them had realised. He was doing this for all of them.

Before he could break his hand and wriggle out of the zip ties, Junior returned with a gun. He stood in the doorway and started to take aim. From the other room, the outer door opened. Without bothering to leave the bathroom, Junior called over his shoulder, “Pop the trunk and be ready to haul out the bodies.”

“Please,” Babs said in a breathy tear-filled voice while she bought time for Dick to do what he needed to. She sounded like she was about to hyperventilate. “Let us say goodbye.” 

“I’m not made of stone. Thirty sec—“ Junior stopped speaking as a crossbow bolt pierced through his shoulder from the back. A second bolt followed on its tail. The gun slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground. 

He gaped like a fish out of water, working his mouth and not saying a word. His hand instinctually went to the wound, slicing his fingers on the sharp arrowhead. When he pulled his hand away, he made a small whimpering sound before his eyes rolled back and he collapsed to the ground. 

Red Hood clomped into the room with his guns drawn. He trod on the prone mobster as he crossed straight to Dick and Babs. Exchanging one of his guns for a knife, he sliced the bonds on Babs’, then Dick’s wrists. “Looks like the hunch paid off.” 

“Thanks, Hood.” Dick couldn’t express how grateful he was to see his brother. The timing of the rescue had been impeccable. 

Dick shook his hands and stomped his feet trying to encourage life back into his extremities before taking Red Hood’s proffered hand and standing. Once he was on his feet, Dick clapped his brother on the back and hoped he could find a way when this was over to show Jason his gratitude. 

Using her arms, Babs pushed herself up from the edge of the tub. She wobbled as she stood and slumped against Dick. He looped his arm around her waist in an attempt to take some of her weight as she waited for the feeling to return to her legs. Red Hood placed a hand on her elbow in an effort to steady her. 

“Are you injured?” Hood asked with less gruffness in his voice than Dick had expected. 

She shook her head and forced a smile that pinched at the corners of her mouth and eyes. “Thanks.” 

“Who’s with you?” Dick studied the cross bolt in Junior’s shoulder then the gun in Red Hood’s hand. He hoped to find Batman or one of his other brothers lurking in the shadows. And not....

Unseen under his mask, Red Hood smirked. He stepped aside, revealing their other rescuer.

“Hello, lover...” Huntress said. 

 


	11. Lost: Courage

In less time than she would have expected, Spoiler had escaped the study. She still couldn’t quite believe that the Commissioner had so readily accepted her excuse about needing to use the restroom. He hadn’t even called for anyone to escort her. Then again, it wasn’t like she was a target. And, he was rather distracted with Babs’ abduction. Still, it was better to not look a gift horse in the mouth, not when she was exactly where she needed to be. 

She stood outside the pantry of Alfred’s kitchen with Black Bat at her side. Tim had sent pictures of the caterer (Joel, according to Damian) and the abductors (mobsters, according to Gordon) to her phone. Before unlocking the pantry, she turned to Black Bat and signed, ‘Need know?’

Black Bat pointed towards the man behind the door and signed, ‘Scared.’

Spoiler nodded and opened the door. She’d been prepared for him to come out running and swinging. She’d been prepared for Alfred’s neatly organised shelves to be tossed to the ground in disarray. Instead, she found Joel huddled in the corner with his bound arms wrapped around his knees. 

“Don’t hurt me,” he whimpered. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.” Spoiler glanced over her shoulder at Black Bat. “Did she hurt you?”

Joel shook his head. “No. But she locked me up in here.” 

“I’m sorry about that.” Spoiler squatted down so she could look the man in his eyes, but stayed far enough back that if he changed tactics and decided to attack, she’d be able to respond. “We need to ask you a few question about your movements today.”

“I didn’t do nothing.” He never looked up from his knees.

“You see, that’s the problem with double negatives, you end up saying things you didn’t mean. When you say ‘you didn’t do nothing,’ grammatically that means you did do something, which I already know.”

She pulled her ‘work’ phone out of a pouch and turned it so he could see the picture the security cameras had caught of him wandering the halls right before Damian had stopped him. “We know you were exploring the halls when you should have been working, I want to know why. And this time, no excuses about looking for the restroom.”

He shook his head and pulled into a tighter ball. “No.”

“My turn.” Black Bat said in a flat monotone that sounded more intimidating in that moment than it truly was, especially when she combined it with a scowl. She stepped forward, her hand curled into a fist. While there was no way for Joel to guess, Spoiler knew from her friend’s stance that there was no harm intended in the gesture, only a hope to intimidate him into answering.

His eyes widened and his breath came out in shallow pants as his gaze darted up and between the two women. 

Spoiler reached over and placed a hand on Black Bat’s arm. The man was already too frightened of something else. If she had to guess, she’d say the mobsters had gotten to him first. At the moment, he wasn’t going to be intimidated by them. It would probably be a different story if he knew how scary Black Bat could be when she fought. But Spoiler didn’t want to play that card. It was better if people underestimated Black Bat until she’d knocked them flat on their backs. 

No, she needed to think like Batgirl. If Oracle was here, talking in her ear, what would she do? 

Oracle would have already delved into the man’s history. She’d have sorted his data and figured out the leverage the mobsters had on him. Without Oracle to lay the groundwork, Spoiler would have to do the next best thing. She would ask him directly. 

“Who are you protecting?” 

“My son. They said they’d hurt him.” Joel blinked at her like he was seeing her for the first time. “How did you know?” 

“I’ve been doing this for a while.” She swiped through the photos Tim sent her and pulled up the one of the mobsters in the elevator. “Were these the men that threatened your son?”

Though Joel shook his head, his eyes said they were the same men. 

“Joel, these men are mobsters. They’ve already abducted two of the three people you met while roaming the halls.” 

He swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat, but refused to respond. 

Spoiler took a deep breath. She needed to rework the problem. “That means right now there are two fathers here in the Manor who are just as concerned as you are—maybe more so—about the fate of their children. There’s three brothers and a sister whose big brother isn’t here to make sure everything is all right.”

“I’m sorry,” Joel blinked back tears. His breathing grew more panicked and rapid. “I can’t...”

“Talk to us. To me. Tell me what they wanted you to do.” She placed her hand over Joel’s. He flinched back at first, but when no attack followed, he relaxed. “We can help protect you, your son.”

“How can you...help?” 

“My friend is very good at what she does. She can keep him safe while we track down the mobsters.”

“We?” Joel’s eyes were as large as saucers. Since he only saw Black Bat and Spoiler, and she’d already promised Black Bat would protect his son, did he think she was implying she’d planned to take him out into the field? She better clarify. 

“I have more friends who are already on the case. We need more information—your information—before we can find the missing couple.” Spoiler knew she was pushing the truth, but she needed him to open up to her. 

“Spoiler...” Tim’s voice in her ear was a wary whisper. “There’s no one else....”

“Jason,” Damian interrupted. “I informed Red Hood.”

She clicked an affirmative response on the comm before turning back to the man. “Joel, please help us.” 

“They....they threatened my kid.” He buried his head into his knees while he considered the options. When he spoke again, his next words came out muffled, but Spoiler still understood. “Said they’d leave him be if...if I just walked halls of the Manor. If I got caught, I was supposed to say I was looking for the bathroom.” 

“Were the men satisfied with your report?”

“They seemed to be. I went upstairs first, like they told me. I just walked down the hall. That’s all, I promise.”

“Okay, go on. How did you end up downstairs at the back of the house?”

“When I went down the stairs at the other end of the hallway, I got lost. There’s so many rooms. Hallways. And then...the kid....the kid saw me. He’s my son’s age. I couldn’t...I had to....” His hands trembled as he recognised the similarities between Damian and his own son. Once again his breathing came out in rapid shallow pants. “I’m sorry.”

“They sent him through to check that their hack was working,” Tim whispered over the comms. 

Spoiler rolled her eyes, she didn’t need Tim to explain what she’d already figured out. Despite the urge to tell him that, she held her tongue. Joel was already on edge and it’d be better if he didn’t realise she was talking to someone else. 

“Tcht.” Black Bat clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth in an echo of Spoiler’s thoughts. 

“Right. Sorry,” Tim mumbled. Spoiler could imagine the scene in the study as the chagrinned flush reddened Tim’s cheeks while Damian smirked. 

Bruce cleared his throat, reminding them all that time was of the essence.

“Okay, Joel. Is there anything else that might help us?” 

He closed his eyes and played over his contact with the mobsters. “They talked funny. With an accent. Something Russian-y sounding. Like the bad guys in an ‘80’s action movie.” 

Tim sucked in a sharp breath through closed teeth. He’d had more than his share of dealings with the Russian mobs back in his early days as Robin.

“Okay. Good. That helps. Is there anything else you can think of? Did they seem interested in anyone else at the party? Guests? Workers?”

“Not really.” Joel furrowed his brow. “No wait. When I made my report to them, they were already talking to some guy. He didn’t look scared, more like a cat who got the cream. I suppose that means they weren’t threatening him like they did me?”

“It’s possible, though unless you heard what they said, we can’t know for certain.”

“Oh.” Joel’s face fell. 

“It’s not hopeless. If we can locate the guy you saw talking to the mobsters, then we can ask him what they were talking about. Can you give me a description of what he looks like?”

“Uh. Pretty much like everyone else at the party. Tux. Light coloured hair. Young-ish. If it helps, later on, I think I saw him with the guy who escorted me back up front. He said his name was Dick. Dick is the nice guy who gave me a second chance, not the one talking to the mob guys.” Joel’s eyes widened as realisation struck him. “Was he the one who was abducted? Did I....? What have I done?”

While Joel began to hyperventilate again, the comms crackled with overlapping sounds. Bruce grunted in a manner that Spoiler translated as affirmation that they were on the right trail. Damian growled his frustration, as he was unable to do anything to help. 

Her phone buzzed with a new picture and over the comms Tim whispered, “Sinclair Moody.”

Spoiler glanced at the picture before showing it to Joel. He was right, this Sinclair character was pretty non-descript when it came to young-ish rich guys. Blagh. 

Joel nodded. “Yeah, yeah. That’s him.”

“That helps, thanks.” Spoiler rocked back on her heels and stood. “Here’s what’s going to happen. My friend here is going to watch over your son and make sure he’s safe. I’m going to head out and follow some leads your information opened up. In the meantime, I need you to stay here. I’m going to send a police officer I trust to take your statement. I need you to answer his questions and tell him everything you told me. You don’t need to be afraid.” 

Joel nodded. 

Black Bat knelt beside him and took his bound hands in hers. “I’ll keep your son safe. Promise.” 

He gave her a shaky smile. “Thank you.” 

With her promise given, Black Bat slipped out of the pantry and from the kitchen.

Before Spoiler re-closed the pantry door, Joel spoke. “Wait. The kid. The one in the hall, what’s his name?”

“Damian.” She didn’t see a reason not to tell him, after all it was public knowledge that Damian was Bruce’s son and they were at Wayne Manor.

“Was he taken?” 

Spoiler shook her head. “No. But, we think he was the intended target. For some reason the mobsters took Dick instead. We’re still trying to figure out why.” 

Joel was silent for a moment as he digested the new information. “I made a mess of things. I don’t deserve your help.”

“We’re not going to let your son suffer.” 

“I’m sorry...I’m sorry...” He started to rock and didn’t bother hiding his tears. 

Spoiler didn’t want to leave Joel like this. He was feeling a huge portion of the guilt for the abductions when he was only an unwilling pawn. That kind of guilt could be crushing. 

“Hey,” Spoiler met his gaze. “We all make mistakes. And, I understand why you did what you did. You felt trapped and scared. And, yeah, there are consequences. We don’t mean for it to happen, but other people get caught up in our mistakes and sometimes they get hurt. In the end, we try to make things right and learn from our mistakes. It’s not easy and it’s definitely not fun. But, we can grow. We can learn. And, next time, we make better choices. Okay?”

Joel nodded. His face settled into an expression of grim determination. No matter how hard it would be, he would do the right thing. He’d do what he could to make things right. 

“Thank you.” Spoiler gave him an encouraging smile that reached her eyes. “Wait here.”

 

 

After escorting Stephanie Brown to her boyfriend, Detective Nick Gage was back in the ballroom taking statements. The work was tedious and most of the guests weren’t as forthcoming with their information as Miss Brown had been. While he worked, he couldn’t get her out of his head nor could he shake the sense of familiarity he’d gotten from her. Sure, they must have met in passing at Gotham University, but that didn’t explain why he felt like he knew her better than that. That she knew him. He just couldn’t pinpoint how any of this made sense. 

He shook his head and started towards the next guest he needed to question. Even before the abductions, the whole evening had been weird. He’d seen Barbara with her new boyfriend on the dance floor. It was probably why he was delving into old memories. It was good to see her, even if she hadn’t noticed him. She appeared more relaxed and happier than she had been when he’d known her. He was glad to know she’d found someone to make her happy. 

The last time he’d seen his Batgirl, she’d advised him to call Barbara. He hadn’t and now too much time had passed. He’d lost any chance of reconnecting with Barbara...or his Batgirl. It was probably better that way...

“Psst.”

Nick’s head shot up. He could almost swear that the shadows had just tried to get his attention. Which, of course, was ridiculous. Unless...

“Psst.” The shadow whispered again. This time he was hit in the shoulder by paperclip twisted into a bat silhouette. 

He pocketed the clip and followed the sound into the shadows. “Batgirl?”

There was a whisper of fabric (a cape, he thought), but no sign of Batgirl herself. Instead he found a Batarang stuck to the wall. It wasn’t just any Batarang. What had she called them? Gooper-rangs. He hadn’t seen one in a long time. Did this mean _his_ Batgirl was back?

He unstuck the Gooper-rang from the wall. A piece of paper fluttered to the ground. 

 

_Detective Nick,_

_There’s a man in the kitchen pantry. His name is Joel. He has information about the kidnappers and their accomplice. He got caught up in this whole mess because they threatened his son. I know you’ll do the right thing. See you around._


	12. Lost: Control

Bruce steepled his fingers in front of his face as he leaned back in his chair and half listened to the drone of the television as the news station had begun to pick up the rumbling of what was happening at Wayne Manor. There were too many reporters of all sorts attending the gala for the information not to be immediately leaked. So far, most of the reports were composed of confusion and rumour. That didn’t stop them from reporting what little they knew.

Jim stood at the window with his back to the rest of the room. He rolled an unlit cigarette between his fingers and stared down at his phone waiting for it to ring with either a ransom call or an update from the ballroom. There’d been no news since Detective Gage had brought Steph back to the study.

Bruce glanced through his fingers at his own phone, hoping it would ring. Willing it to ring. He wanted—no, needed—to know that Dick and Babs were okay. As much as he wanted to be reassured of their safety, he also chafed at the forced inactivity. If the kidnapping hadn’t happened during a gala, if Nightwing and Batgirl had been abducted instead, he could be out there looking for them. Instead, he was forced to wait on another’s whims. Once the ransom demands were made, he could take action, even if it wasn’t the action he craved. 

The others felt the same way. Tim hid behind his tablet and forced a calm that he didn’t feel. Damian glowered and paced despite his injured ankle. 

“Stop,” Jim said. “You’re going to do yourself a further injury.” 

“Tt.” Damian flopped back in a free chair. He muttered, “It’s not fair.” 

“No, it’s not, but we all need to play our roles,” Bruce reminded his son. If Jim thought it an odd sentiment, he didn’t say anything. 

Bruce massaged his temples and leaned back in his chair as he considered how this evening had gone so wrong. Everything was backwards. At this very moment, Spoiler was questioning the caterer that Damian had stopped earlier in the evening. Bruce knew she was capable of the job, but that didn’t stop the burning desire to be the one to question the man. Instead he was stuck in the trappings of the Bruce Wayne portion of his life. At the moment, Tim was more capable of helping out with the case than him. With his tablet as cover, the young vigilante was able to murmur advice and convey data to Black Bat and Spoiler. No one would cast a second glance in his direction. 

The elder vigilante felt like he was losing control of his carefully maintained life. Since before Alfred had pulled him aside, the evening had been off. Dick. Babs. Damian. Jason. Tim. And now Jim. It was odd to think of the Commissioner as Jim when Bruce wasn’t wearing the cape and cowl. It wasn’t that he never called him Jim before, the difference was now he had been given explicit permission to do so. Though, the man had a point. If Babs and Dick stayed together this time, it wouldn’t be long before they’d be family. 

Not for the first time, he wondered how much Jim knew. Bruce knew he had messed up when he came at the Commissioner in Batman mode. But, Jim had treated him as Bruce Wayne. Had that been on purpose to deflect the slip? Or, had it simply been his habit for dealing with billionaire playboys? 

A knock at the study door interrupted his musings. Bruce sat up and was almost to his feet when Jim waved him back. The Commissioner approached the door and placed himself between the door and the Waynes. He had done the same thing when Gage had escorted Steph to the door. 

“Who is it?” Jim braced his foot and leg against the door so if anyone tried to force it open, they would find the way obstructed.  

“A friend,” a familiar voice purred from the other side of the door. 

“Not good enough.” Jim cracked the door open so he could see the uninvited guest. “Go back to the ballroom.” 

“Let her in,” Bruce growled. He didn’t need to see her, to know who was on the other side of the door. Besides, he wanted her here. She might be the only one who could keep him from losing his mind. Before everything crumbled around him, he’d been looking forward to dancing and flirting with her throughout the evening. And, he had to admit, he had hoped that after all the guests left and before he went on patrol, there would have been time for _something more_ with her. He crossed the room to stand beside Jim. The Commissioner gave a long-suffering sigh, but did as Bruce instructed. 

Bruce opened his mouth to greet her, but snapped it shut, the greeting unsaid. _Cat_ , threatened to spill from the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t afford to make another mistake like earlier. Yet, he couldn’t exactly call her _Selina_ either. She’d snuck into the party in disguise. When she wanted to, Selina could transform herself until she was unrecognisable to most people. Like tonight, she’d worn a blonde wig and coloured contacts. To add to the overall effect, she’d chosen a different style of dress and makeup than she traditionally wore. Pairing all of that with a staggeringly high pair of heels, Selina appeared a different person. Even with the cleverly crafted disguise, it’s not what anyone would remember. None of the guests would remember her face, but they would remember her presence. She was the epitome of grace and glamour. It was like Grace Kelly or Katherine Hepburn had attended the party in her stead. After the party when she slipped out of her disguise and back into her costume no one would recognise her as the same woman. No one, but Bruce. 

And, apparently, Police Commissioner Jim Gordon. 

“Ms. Kyle.” Nonplussed at the sight of her, Jim shook her proffered hand while he looked past her at the man whose arm she clutched in a vice like grasp. “Who do you have there?”

“I found a rat skulking around where he doesn’t belong.” She dropped her act and dragged the man into the study. 

Sinclair Moody. 

He spat protests under his breath and refused to pick up his feet as he followed Selina to the middle of the room. Every eye was trained on him. He returned the stares glare for glare. 

“Where?” Bruce narrowed his eyes.

Selina interpreted the incomplete question. She waved her hand in a lazy arc. “Oh, nowhere like that. Just hallways. Looking for a way out.”

Bruce nodded, a small bit of relief flooded through him. She wasn’t dismissing his concern; rather she was discreetly letting him know that his secret was safe.

“Have a seat,” Jim instructed, pointing towards a hard straight-back chair that Bruce kept in his study for when he needed to deal with unwanted guests in an official capacity. 

Sinclair refused to move another step until Selina tightened her grasp and didn’t let go until he relented and threw himself into the chair. Over the edge of the icepack he clutched his face, he shot a glare of pure loathing at Selina. She returned his glare with one of her own. Free from her charge, she perched along the edge of Bruce’s desk and surveyed the scene.

“You can’t treat me like this,” Sinclair sulked in an indignant rage. The kind only ever found on a guilty party trying to play innocent. He readjusted the ice pack over his face. “I’m the victim here.” 

With Sinclair Moody located, Bruce might finally be able to piece together what happened to Dick before he went missing. He wanted to retrace Dick’s steps between dancing with Cass and being abducted. From what little he knew, those steps started with Sinclair. He didn’t expect to find much truth in Sinclair’s account, but at least it would be a start. Bruce towered over the young man as he stood in front of the chair. “I just want to know what happened between you and Dick?”

“What do you think happened? He punched me!” Sinclair readjusted the ice pack and swiped at his nose, which bore no evidence of bleeding. It had clearly not been broken. If Dick really had punched him, it appeared that Dick had been taking it easy on the other man. 

“All right. For the moment we’ll take you at your word. Why did he hit you?” Bruce grimaced, that was the wrong way to word it if he wanted the other’s however reluctant assistance. 

“I don’t know. It was completely unprovoked. I saw my ol’ school friend out on the dance floor and thought we could catch up.” A pathetic whine infused Sinclair’s words. 

When Sinclair mentioned being ‘ol’ friends’ with Dick, Bruce scoffed. Whatever story the boy told himself, he definitely had never been friends with Dick. Bruce allowed the merest trace of Batman to edge his words. Not enough to connect the two, but just enough to make Sinclair question the merits of continuing with his lies. “And what exactly were you catching up on?”

Sinclair’s eyes flickered between Bruce and Jim. Realisation dawned on the young man who behaved more like a boy than a man that whatever story he had planned to tell wouldn’t past muster with his interrogators. If playing the wronged victim wouldn’t get him his way, he would change tactics. 

Fuming, Sinclair hardened his glare and hissed, “What did he say? Grayson is a frickin’ liar. He never liked me. He was always trying to get me in trouble. Where is the bastard?”

BANG!

Damian’s chair crashed to the ground as he catapulted to his feet and across the room. Who knew what his youngest son would have done if Bruce hadn’t grasped the boy by the shoulder and held him in place before he reached Sinclair. Damian fumed. “How dare you insult my brother’s integrity, particularly when he is not here to defend himself. I demand you apologise at once.” 

“I’m not the one who should apologise, it’s him.” Sinclair snarled. 

“Oh, for the love of...” Selina had silently moved beside Sinclair and plucked the icepack from his hands. 

With the icepack gone, everyone had a clear view of Sinclair’s perfectly unmarred face. He tried to cover the missing injury, but it was too late. The colour drained from his face, leaving only the slight pink splotch from where the icepack had rested against his cheek. 

Bruce couldn’t comprehend why Sinclair thought he could get away with such a blatant falsehood. Selina said he had been searching for a way out, but if he wanted to blame Dick for an injury, it helped to actually have an injury. 

Before Bruce could push the point, Spoiler’s interrogation had taken an interesting turn. Over the comms, he heard the caterer—the real one—give a description of the man sitting before him and connecting him with the mobsters behind the abduction. Bruce grunted, hoping Spoiler would interpret it as an affirmative. Damian squirmed under his father’s grasp and growled his frustration. If they had their druthers, father and son would both be out on the streets of Gotham tearing down all the dark and shadowy places their city offered until they found Dick and Babs. 

Tim materialised at Bruce’s other side with a menacing smile and his tablet raised. 

“Smile.” Tim said the word so came out as a sinister command. He clicked a picture of Sinclair and sent it to Spoiler in a nearly simultaneous series of actions.

Sinclair blinked at the tablet like the flash had gone off. His eyes widened and an edge of wild panic set in as he shifted between staring at Tim and Damian. For the first time, he realised who was in the room. “Where’s Grayson?”

“That’s what we’d like to know,” Jim said stepping in. 

“How are they both....I told them....No, no, no....They’re going to...No one was suppose...” The fear that caused him to frantically stumble over his words was the first bit of honesty they’d witnessed from him all evening. 

Sinclair jerked back in his chair, crashing against the wall in a pathetic thud. He looked like he wanted to run, but there was nowhere for him to go, circled as he was by Jim, Bruce and the others. When he couldn’t escape, he started to sob. “You gotta protect me. Don’t let him get me....”

“Who were you reporting to?” Bruce asked. Jim stepped out of the circle and placed a call to Montoya. 

Sinclair fought through the instinct to keep his mouth shut before the fear won out. “Nicholas Maroni. I went to university with him. He was going to help me. My father....he threatened to cut me off. I’d have nothing. Maroni said he could make it so that didn’t matter. That I’d have all the money I wanted.”

“What was the price?” Bruce asked. Had this all started because a man-child couldn’t have his own way? 

“All I needed to do was help him establish his business in Gotham—clear the way, cover his tracks, create a cover to take the blame if he was found out.” As the words escaped from his lips, he remembered _who_ he was talking to and _who_ he’d suggested to take the fall. In an attempt to look anywhere but at a Wayne, he found Selina. With his eyes, he desperately pleaded for her help. 

“And tonight?” Selina said with a sharp hiss. No refuge was to be found in her.

Sinclair clenched his jaw shut and shook his head. He wasn’t going to say anymore. Trying to shrink into himself, he hunched his shoulders and crossed his arms. He wasn’t going anywhere and he knew it. 

Jim rejoined the group. “Montoya’s on her way.” 

“Good.” Bruce growled. He eased the pressure on Damian’s shoulder and softened his voice as he spoke to his sons. “Go sit down.”

Reluctantly, Damian followed Tim back across the room to their chairs. By the time he was seated, Tim was already back at work, quickly passing the newly gathered information onto the necessary parties. 

Once more feeling useless, Bruce started back for his desk when Jim’s phone rang. Bruce froze in place and glanced at his own phone. Nothing. He’d been clutching it in his hand since he learned Dick had been abducted. The casing threatened to buckle under the pressure of his grip. 

Every vigilante in the room held their collective breaths as the Commissioner answered his phone. The conversation was more listening than talking. They didn’t breathe again until Jim hung up and made his report. 

“That was dispatch. They just received a call. Babs and Dick have been found.”


	13. Lost: Balance

“Uh...Hel....Huntress....” Dick stammered. His face turned about twenty shades of red. “That’s over. Never going to happen again.” 

“I know. I just like seeing you squirm.” She kissed him on the cheek. “Good luck to you and the future missus.” 

“Hello Huntress.” Babs grinned at her friend. “What’s the situation?”

“Still the boss, even out of uniform.” Huntress used her foot to bring the unconscious mobster’s face into view. “Nicholas Maroni. He’s a nephew, couple times removed. His dad wanted out of the family business, while Nico here wanted back in. Looks like he was given Gotham as a test. Apparently his uncle didn’t have much faith in him.” 

“I thought he looked like a Maroni. It’s been a while since they’ve been active.” Dick slipped out of his jacket and handed it to Babs who still shivered from the cold and wet. 

With a grateful smile, Babs put on the jacket. She wavered slightly in place. Before Dick could ask if she was alright, she gave a swift sharp jerk of her head that told him not to ask. 

“While I’d love to keep discussing this, maybe we could continue this somewhere other than the bathroom of the world’s dingiest motel?” Red Hood kicked the mobster in the arm before none too gently wrenching back the man’s arms and binding them with heavy-duty zip ties. The minuscule bathroom was too small and had quickly become overcrowded with the four vigilantes and the prone mobster.

“Lead the way.” Dick waved his hands shooing out their rescuers. Before following, he rolled his neck and shoulders, working out the kinks in his muscles. He jumped in place as he banished the last of the pins and needles.

Babs squeezed his hand, as they held hands with their fingers entwined. He grinned at her and ignored the pain, simply glad they’d made it through the evening. They were finally in the homestretch and he found comfort in her steady presence. For now, he was fine. But he knew from experience that once things calmed down and his brain had a chance to catch up with events of the evening, he’d have more than a few sleepless nights. Pushing those thoughts to the side, he squeezed Babs’ hand in return. 

As they left the bathroom, with their one time captor now their captive, Babs stumbled over Nicholas’ foot. Three pairs of hands reached to steady her as she righted herself on unsteady legs. She glared at all of them. “I’m fine. I’ve spent the last who knows how long scrunched in a tub not big enough for one person, let alone two. Give me a moment.”

“Right, sorry.” Dick wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close—not in an attempt to steady her, rather in a simple embrace. He dropped his head as she raised hers to meet for a kiss. Truth was, he felt the need to be held as much as he wanted to hold her. 

Red Hood cleared his throat. “Hey lovebirds. I think daddies dearest might want to know their little birds are all safe and sound.”

Huntress didn’t even try to hide her amusement at that comment. “O—, how do you want to play this? Who should we call?”

Unkissed, Babs dropped the embrace and shifted back into business mode. “Call it in like you would for any abduction case. Use the motel phone so they can trace it back here.” 

With a nod, Huntress crossed to the phone placed on the nightstand situated between the two single beds. 

“Are we going to need to worry about Maroni before the police get here?” Dick asked. He was okay. Babs was okay. Now, it was time to get back to business. 

“With the amount of tranquilliser she used, he won’t be waking anytime soon.” There was a hint of admiration in Red Hood’s voice.

“Did you take care of his underlings before coming in?” Babs asked.

Huntress and Red Hood exchanged glances. 

“I’ll take that as a no. They’re suppose to be bringing the car around front,” Dick explained. He stepped into a lunge, stretching out his tight muscles. 

Red Hood pulled a spare domino mask from a pocket and tossed it at Dick. “I have a feeling you’d like to be the one to take them down.” 

“You know it.” Dick smirked and caught the mask. Red wasn’t exactly his colour, but it’d make do in a pinch. He blinked behind the mask as he adjusted to the unfamiliar settings.

Hood peeled out of his jacket and handed it to his brother. Donning the too large jacket, Dick felt a bit like a kid playing dress-up, but there wasn’t anything else he could use as a makeshift uniform. 

“There’s an extra pair of gloves in the pockets.” Hood frowned at Dick’s already injured hands. 

“What about me?” Babs asked. She moved stiffly as she proceeded further into the room. 

Huntress rolled her eyes. She’d finished her call and had rejoined the others. “Don’t look at me. I don’t carry a spare Bat costume with me when I go out on the hunt. Besides, you’re barefoot.”

Babs let out a sigh of frustration. Dick knew she wanted to take down the men who’d abducted them as much as he did. 

“Can the amateur dramatic society, O—. Anyone can punch out a goon. At the moment, we don’t need another Bat, we need an Oracle.” Huntress handed a pair of purple nitrile gloves to Babs and pointed at a laptop left on the bed. “Maybe you can figure out what they’re up to.” 

“Right.” Babs snapped the gloves as she pulled them on. Dick recognised the gleam in her eyes as she headed for the computer. The Maronis were in for a world of digital pain. 

Before following Red Hood out to wait for the goons and their car, Dick gave Babs a quick kiss. 

“Be safe,” she whispered. 

“Always.” He grinned at her like this was business as usual. And, really, it was. 

 

Red Hood unscrewed the light bulb over the door outside the motel room. He knew these kinds of places—he’d stayed in them more times than he wanted to remember—and no one would think twice about a suddenly ‘burnt out’ bulb. As Dick exited the room, the sidewalk in front of the room was dark, allowing the vigilantes to hide in the shadows. 

“Ready?” Hood asked. The cops would be here soon. If the goons didn’t show up in a next few moments, they’d be a matter for the police. Or, he’d have to chase them down if they’d already done a runner. 

Dick shook out his hands and grimaced as he clenched them into fists. “Yeah.” 

An almost long-forgotten sensation settled in the pit of the younger vigilante’s stomach. He’d felt the same thing when the brat had come away injured from their botched afternoon surveillance. Was it strange that he had the desire to break the fingers of anyone who dared hurt his brothers? “Your hands....did they?” 

“No.” Dick shook his head. “I punched a wall.”

Red Hood raised an unseen eyebrow. “Who got on your bad side?”

“Sinclair Moody.” Dick spat the name like it was a curse. 

“Who?” 

Before Dick had a chance to answer, a rattle-y old navy blue Buick backed into the spot in front of the door. The trunk popped open before either mobster attempted to leave the car. Sinking into silence, the vigilantes waited for their chance. 

Without any discernible stealth, the two wannabe mobsters exited the car arguing loudly. Their accents were as Eastern-European as the cigarette pack Hood had found in the desk drawer. Fishing it out of his pocket, he threw it at the big blond man. “Got a smoke?”

“Wha?” The man stopped in his tracks and fumbled the package. It fell to the ground and was swept away by a gust of wind that carried the promise of rain. 

“Good enough.” Hood stepped out of the deepest shadows and cold-cocked the man with the butt of one of his guns. The big man crumpled to the ground without even putting up a fight.

“Nobody kidnaps Dickiebird but me,” Red Hood growled. 

The shorter mobster, more alert than his comrade, had pulled out a switchblade and was swinging it at Dick like someone who knew what he was doing. 

“Aww, don’t I feel special,” Dick quipped as he danced on the balls of his feet, keeping out of the knife’s reach. “How about next time, just send a card.”

“Need help?” Hood turned over the downed mobster and placed a knee on his back. Working quickly, he bound the unconscious man’s hands then searched him for weapons. 

“Nah, I owe someone for making a mess of my night out.” Dick was corralling the man towards the car without the goon realising he wasn’t in control of the fight. 

“I can’t believe you were taken down by these morons.” Hood hoped that Dick realised he was speaking more in the way of banter and not reproach. Bruce would have taken it the wrong way immediately assuming Hood was on the attack. Dick just grinned and pushed his attack harder. 

It was obvious that Dick and Babs had been taken off guard and were knocked out before they could mount a defence. Their clothes still reeked with the lingering scent of whatever knockout gas had been used. They’d all been in these situations, balancing on the narrow ledge between identities. It’d been a while since Red Hood had needed to worry about being Jason or protecting a civilian identity. 

He scanned the horizon for the flashes of red and blue cop lights and the wail of the sirens on the wind. He was certain they were almost out of time. 

“Didn’t you know? Vitali here has skills.” Making contact for the first time in the fight, Dick planted a sidekick right into the man’s stomach. 

Vitali stumbled backwards. He tripped and hit his head as he fell into the open trunk. Before the goon could react, Dick slammed the trunk shut with a resounding clang.

“Well, that’s one way of taking them out,” Hood shrugged. “Now give me back my gear.” 

Dick grinned. In quick efficient movements, he stripped out of the jacket, gloves, and mask. “Thanks for the loaners, Hood. I owe you.”

“And I won’t let you forget it.” Jason returned the grin knowing his brother couldn’t see it. Damn. It was good to fight on the same side as Dickiebird again. The former Robins made a good team. 

“We’re out of here,” Huntress said as she bolted from the motel room with Babs in her wake. “Our work isn’t done yet.”

“Huntress, Red Hood,” Babs said as she headed over to Dick. “Thanks for the rescue.”

“Anytime O—, but let’s not make a habit of it.” Huntress rabbited away from the building and into the darkness of the night. 

“What she said.” With a nod at his companions, Red Hood turned to follow Huntress as the wails of sirens could be heard on the wind. “See you around.” 

 


	14. Lost: Feeling

“Now that the boys are off playing hero, do you want to tell me the truth?” Huntress caught Babs in a steely stare.

“What do you mean?” Babs ran her fingers across the laptop’s track pad. She had that look in her eyes that Huntress remembered all too well. She was about to get lost in her work and Huntress wouldn’t be able to keep her attention until it was done, unless she managed to split the computer genius’ attention now. 

You didn’t mess with Babs or the people she considered under her protection. In this case, it was the Bats, though Huntress knew that she also included the former-Birds and the GCPD under her purview. If anyone dared attack the people she cared for, they better expect a world of hurt to infiltrate their lives from the most unexpected quarters. Huntress’ vengeance was nothing in comparison to Oracle’s—particularly when her opponents thought they could mess with her family and friends. Not that Babs was going by Oracle anymore. Though, from the way Babs attacked the keyboard, Huntress could tell that while Oracle might be gone, she definitely wasn’t forgotten.

Huntress sat on the foot of the bed. “You can barely walk, there’s no way you’re up for a fight at the moment. How badly were you hurt?”

Babs shrugged. “I haven’t bothered to check yet. I think my left leg got banged up while they were stuffing us in the tub. Other than that, I’m still a bit stiff and numb from being folded into an unnatural position for so long.”

Huntress sighed heavily. “Show me your legs.”

Only breaking from her work long enough to hitch up her skirt, the redhead revealed her legs to her friend. She kept working while Huntress examined her for injuries.

The faucet had indeed gouged through several layers of skin just under her left knee. Enough time had passed since the initial injury for the blood to coagulate into a lumpy deep red splotch about the size of a quarter. Before the injury had staunched on its own, blood had oozed down and covered her shin. The area around the wound had swollen and a bruise was blooming across the surface. It looked worse than it actually was. 

Babs didn’t even flinch as the costumed vigilante examined the wound, pressing the skin around the injury. The gentle prodding re-opened the scarcely formed scab, starting a new trickle of blood. Despite what should have been painful at most and irritating at least, Babs never looked up from her work.

Huntress didn’t like her friend’s silence. But, then again, the former Oracle was working and she tended to get lost in her own head when she was at the computer. Before Huntress could press the issue, Babs glanced up from her work and caught sight of the other woman’s concerned scowl. 

Babs entered a new command into the laptop. “How bad is it? Am I going to live?”

“You didn’t feel that? You’ve got a bruise the size of Texas forming on your shin and a graze that removed several layers of skin.” 

Her brow furrowed for a moment before Babs massaged away any traces of the concern that may have crossed her face. When she looked back up at Huntress, the only evidence that things weren’t all hunky-dory was the tight pinched skin at the corner of her eyes. 

“Truthfully, I ache all over—from the top of my head to my tailbone. I suppose the pain is all melding into one giant ache.” She rolled her shoulders and neck. “I think they dragged me down the hall by my armpits.”

Huntress frowned. She bent Babs’ leg so she could see her heel. If Dick and Babs had been drug out of the Manor or car or whatever, it wasn’t likely their abductors had been too careful about her bare feet. Like Huntress had expected, the back of Babs’ feet were scuffed and rug burned. Not bad, but irritating as all get out. 

When Babs had limped out of the bathroom, Huntress had made two guesses about what was wrong with her friend. Either Babs was still recovering from being abducted, manhandled, tied up, and dumped in the tub. Or, she’d been more injured than she was willing to let on. It would have been a safe assumption that both guesses were at least partially correct. But now, Huntress wasn’t quite so certain. The wound was scarcely more than a scratch for an experienced vigilante. She should have been able to shake that off like it was nothing. Even the rug burn on her heels shouldn’t be anything more than a minor nuisance. That Babs didn’t react to Huntress’ prodding of the injured areas, sent Helena’s mind wandering to dangerous assumptions. 

She sighed, not that Babs would tell her if anything was wrong. The woman didn’t know how to ask for help. She never wanted to show even a glimmer of weakness. That meant she tended to keep things close to her chest until she had all the answers. That habit had gotten them in trouble more than once. If Babs was keeping secrets... No, Huntress had a sneaking suspicion that this was something that Babs hadn’t even admitted to herself yet. 

For so long, Huntress had been trying to prove herself to the Bats, that she was just as capable as all of them. That she had the same right to patrol Gotham. It was as much her city as it was theirs. So, it came as a surprise when she realised she’d finally out manoeuvred a Bat and it didn’t feel like a triumph. Instead, it terrified her.

“So...?” Babs prompted.

Huntress started. Now she was getting lost in thought. Bad form. “Hmm?” 

“Besides the bruise, how bad is the injury?”

“It’s not too bad. Do you want me to wrap it or do you want to wait for the ambulance?” 

“Mm. If I’m not in danger of bleeding out, maybe just a bandage. They’ll want to catalog the evidence of my injury. What’s the ETA on the police?” 

Huntress placed a gauze pad over the half opened wound. “You still have a few minutes. Do you need a thumb drive?”

“Yes.” Babs caught the tossed thumb drive and plugged it into the computer. 

“Find anything good?” Huntress moved around the bed so she could look over Babs’ shoulder at the computer. She couldn’t decipher any of the information scrolling across the screen. Even if she could read the code, Babs moved through the information too quickly for Huntress to keep up. 

“Some, I’ll know more later when I have time to sort through the data. Vitali—the self-proclaimed computer expert—is almost as skilled as he thinks he is, but he’s sloppy. He might as well have left neon signs marking the path he took to hack into the Manor’s systems and elsewhere.”

“Well thank goodness for incompetent crooks. Anything useful for the rest of us?”

“Give me your phone.” 

Huntress handed over the device, trusting that Babs knew what she was doing. 

After a moment of rapid tapping, Babs handed the phone back to its owner. “I’ve put a few addresses into your phone that I’d like you to check out. Tonight, if possible. They were talking about a new headquarters and these are the most likely options from the information he has stored on his computer.”

“And the magic word...” Huntress rolled her eyes. This was the Babs she was more accustomed to, the one that bossed everyone around. 

“Please,” she said without a pause. Her thoughts were already onto the next task. “From the data he has on the laptop, we should be able to shut down the Gotham branch of the Maroni’s operation. Probably not permanently, but enough to make them rethink their plans.” 

“What about the trafficking? Drug running?”

Babs shrugged. “He didn’t have access to the worldwide operations. Good for Maroni, bad for us. When I have more time to dig, I can probably pull out a few more leads on their organisation. Like you said, I don’t think his uncle trusted Nico with much of the operation.” 

Huntress nodded. She had hoped for more leads, but no matter how small, each new piece of information was a step forward. And, with a little patience, she knew Babs would unravel more clues in a few days on the computer than Huntress could in a month of legwork. It really was beginning to feel like the old days. “You know, I miss having you watching our backs and running the team. Don’t get me wrong, it’s good to have you back on the streets. It’s just...Oracle was pretty amazing.”

“I miss it too,” Babs said softly as she finished copying the files and ejected the drive. She tossed it to her colleague. “Hold onto this for now. We can go through the data later, back at my apartment. For now, you and Red Hood should probably head out. Don’t worry, we’ll give you the credit.” 

“You got it, sis,” Huntress said without thinking. 

A sad smile tugged at the redhead’s lips. “You’ve been hanging out with Zinda, haven’t you? I haven’t seen her in ages.”

Huntress nodded. “We still get together for drinks and well, you know Zinda. They turn into wild nights.” 

“Yeah, I know. Next time you see her, tell her hi for me.” Though she smiled, it didn’t quite reach her eyes. They told a different story. Was it one of melancholy? Loneliness? Nostalgia? Huntress wasn’t quite sure.

“Will do. Though she’d love to hear from you. Maybe we ought to schedule a Birds reunion or something. Do you think we could convince you to start the team back up again?” 

“I’ll think about it. But now, we really ought to go.” Despite her words, Babs wouldn’t meet Huntress’ eyes. 

“Well, O—, it was good having the boss back, even if it was only for the evening.” Before heading for the door Huntress turned back to her friend with a smile and a cheeky wink. “Take care of that handsome lover boy of yours, he needs all the help he can get.” 

“Go on. I’ll see you soon.” Babs laughed with real amusement and followed Huntress to the door of the motel. 

 

Babs watched Red Hood and Huntress disappear into the night. She longed to head out with them, but the wasn’t in the cards for the evening. Her legs burned with pain as the feeling had finally returned to her limbs. Even if that wasn’t the case, she and Dick needed to wait for the police. They needed to give their statements and play the hapless victims in one last performance. 

The roar of sirens echoed up the street. It wouldn’t be long now. 

In the last moment of privacy that they would have for a while, Dick turned to Babs and held her close. She raised her head and kissed him. 

“Some evening,” she said as the kiss ended. 

“You can say that again.” 

As they moved to sit against the brick wall of the motel and wait for the police, Dick kept constant contact with her. His hand entwined with hers. She knew he needed the physical contact of skin against skin. It was a reassurance that they had made it through the situation mostly unscathed. She rested her head against his shoulder while he rested his head against the top of hers.

“What’s our story?” Dick asked. 

“Pretty much exactly what happened, though I’d take out the parts where we’re on first name basis with our rescuers.” 

“Obviously.” He grinned. “When we separated, I followed Hood to the door and....erm, watched him take down the goons. He hit Emil in the head, knocking him out, and kicked Vitali into the trunk.”

“Which one was you?” 

“Vitali. What about you?”

“Huntress bandaged up my leg.” She ran her free hand over her bruised and bleeding flesh. Biting back a stifled gasp of pain, Babs frowned. Huntress was right. She should have felt that before now. 

Dick frowned in concern. His entire being tensed in a desire to take action against those who dared hurt someone he loved. “You’re injured?”

“Nothing too serious. Bumps and bruises.” She waved off the incident like it was nothing. “It’s not like we can tell the police I was copying information off the mobster’s laptop to hand over to two of Gotham’s more infamous vigilantes.”

He relaxed slightly, the worry draining from his muscles. Their stories were in sync and the night would be over soon. 

“Will you spend the rest of the night with me?” Babs asked softly as a small fleet of police cars finally pulled up in front of the motel with flashing lights and screaming sirens. 

“Of course. There’s no place I’d rather be.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. 

 


	15. Lost: Birds

They were being watched. 

He didn’t need the small hairs on the back of his neck to stand on end or any of those other subtle sensations people often claimed as signs that they were being observed to know that _they_ were nearby. All the years that he had spent as both the hunter and the hunted told him that these watchers didn’t mean him any harm. Even before pinpointing their location, he knew they weren’t his target. If they were here, it meant that they’d figured out the same thing he had. Oh goodie, a team-up.  

Throwing all subtlety to the wind, Red Hood turned and searched the rooftops on the opposite side of the street. The streetlight glinted off the red finish of his helmet. It didn’t take him long to spot them. Hidden among the shadows—right where the Bat would have hidden—was a flash of purple and a splash of red. He narrowed his eyes and would have met the others with a steely stare. If they weren’t all masked, he was certain they’d be staring eye to eye. In a pique of childishness, he flipped off his younger counterparts letting them know that he knew they were there. 

“What are you doing?” Huntress hissed from the shadows. 

She’d been oddly subdued since leaving the motel. He didn’t know what had passed between her and Babs, but she’d come back with information and an order from the Bird’s former leader. He huffed, even as a mostly independent operator, he was still taking orders from a Bat. Though, this one wasn’t so quick to condemn him and actually treated him like an adult. He supposed that would have to do for now. It was either that, or worry that something was wrong with Babs too. 

Returning to Huntress’ question, he nodded at the building opposite them. “We have uninvited guests.”

“Who?” She searched the shadows but didn’t see what he did. 

“Just a minute,” he said as the Batcomm in his helmet buzzed, alerting him he’d been looped into the comms relay. He held two fingers over his ear to signify he was receiving a call. “Blondie. Replacement. A little late to the party.”

“Red Hoodie,” Spoiler shot back without missing a beat. “Hear you were part of the rescue party that found the lost birds. Thanks. What are you doing here?”

Huntress, unable to hear the other side of the conversation rolled her eyes. “Tell your girlfriends they have to wait. We have a job to do.” 

“Not my girlfriend,” Red Hood shot back at Huntress as Spoiler added over the comm, “I am so not your girlfriend. Who’s with you?”

“Why don’t you come down so I don’t need to keep craning my neck to see you.” 

“Or, you could come up. We have a good view of the street,” Red Robin countered. True enough. It wasn’t like he or Huntress were without means of scaling the buildings. 

“Fine. But I’m in charge.” He clicked off the comm before anyone could protest.

Huntress scoffed. “Who died and made you boss?” 

“I did,” Hood muttered under his breath too quiet for anyone else to hear. “Look, I’m going to meet the kids on the roof of the building across the street. You coming or not?”

“We started this together, might as well make a night of it. Come on.” She dashed across the street to the narrow confines between buildings. 

 

Spoiler and Red Robin were carrying on a hushed conversation as Huntress and Red Hood scrambled over the edge of the roof. 

“So, what’d we miss?” Hood asked in lieu of a greeting. He towered over the younger vigilantes as they crouched along the edge of the building. Even if they were standing he’d still tower over them. 

“So, these are the kids.” Huntress circled around to the other side so that the elder vigilantes flanked the younger ones. “Looks like little Robin is all grown up.”

“Hello Huntress. It’s been a while and it’s Red Robin now.” He gestured across the street. “Doesn’t this all feel a little bit familiar.” 

Huntress nodded while the other two vigilantes frowned in confusion. 

“What do you mean?” Hood examined the buildings up and down the street. Most of them were relatively new construction. In Gotham, that meant, they’d been re-built after the No Man’s Land quarantine was lifted. He’d missed that disaster. Suppose he ought to be grateful for that. 

“I know this former Boy Wonder too. Worked alongside him a couple of times when the big bad Bat was too busy to be his partner.”

“Enough with the history lesson,” Hood grumbled. “What does this have to do with the present case?”

“Probably nothing. But it is interesting. When I met Robin, he was chasing after a girl whose father had just been killed by Russian mobsters.”

“Ariana?” Spoiler placed a hand on Red Robin’s shoulder and squeezed it. 

The younger vigilante gave a curt nod. 

Red Hood didn’t have a frickin’ idea who Ariana was or what she had to do with any of this. Apparently every one else knew and didn’t think it important enough to fill in the blanks for him. Not everyone could remember that death tended to mean you missed out on things—like knowing all about the Replacement’s first crush.

Fine. He didn’t care about the soap operas that were their lives anyways. He crossed his arms and scowled, hoping they’d get the impression even if they couldn’t see it. “What does any of this have to do with the mob’s new headquarters?”

“The night I met Ariana, they killed her father and burned down his print shop. If it was still standing, the shop would be right there.” Red Robin pointed at the office building directly across the street from them. 

Huntress gestured at the building next to the one Red Robin had pointed out. “That’s the address we found in the warehouse. It also happens to correspond with one of the locations Oracle gave me.” 

Red Robin started. “Who? There’s no Oracle anymore...”

“Seriously, do you Bats ever talk to each other?” Huntress rolled her eyes. “Is there anyway we can figure out how many people are inside the building?”

“No, go back. I’m serious. Whoever is giving you information isn’t Oracle. She stopped being Oracle a while ago. You were there when it happened. She’s Batgirl now. ” 

“Then tell me, oh wise one, how did I get this?” Huntress pulled a thumb drive from a pouch on her belt and waved it in front of the young man. 

He made a grab for it, but she pulled it away before he could touch it. “Not so fast Red Junior, this is for Oracle’s eyes only. She’ll decide what you need to know. If she doesn’t exist, then I guess you won’t get anything.”

Before Red Robin could reply, Spoiler was on her feet and in between the two of them. “Ti...Red...er, Red Robin, Huntress is right. Oracle is still out there, just in a more finite capacity. Family only. Besides, it’s not like we we’re all limited to one identity. If you have two, why not three?” 

“Fine.” Red Robin glowered. “But why am I the last to know.”

Hood shook his head and gave a low chuckle. He hadn’t known either, but there was no way on earth, he’d give the Replacement the satisfaction in knowing that. “Face it kid, the Purples have a point. No one’s been talking lately. I bet we don’t know half the stuff that’s going on in the Cave or with each other.”

The heavy clouds that had been gathering all evening finally reached capacity and started spitting cold raindrops on the rooftop vigilantes. Lightning flashed within the clouds and thunder rumbled. 

“Great.” Spoiler tugged the hood of her cloak further forward as though that could protect her from the rain. “Now that we’ve confirmed we’re all the world’s worst communicators can we get back to taking out the goons. Who has a heat sensor or whatever in their mask?”

Finally, back to business. Red Hood touched the side of his hood and shifted through the lens settings until he found the one he needed. “I’m picking up a dozen heat signatures. That can’t be the whole crew.” 

Huntress moved to the edge of the building where its taller neighbour blocked at least some of the rain. “Well, Maroni has recently suffered quite a few losses where Gotham is concerned. Can’t imagine he’s too eager to send good muscle after bad. Bet Nico only had a skeleton crew to work with.”

“So, what’s your plan?” Red Robin turned to Red Hood. “You said you were in charge. Let’s hear it.” 

While the others turned for cover, the elder red clad vigilante didn’t move from his spot along the edge of the roof as he overlooked the street. Rain clattered against his helmet in an almost soothing rhythm. He shrugged off the rain like it was nothing. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. He didn’t feel things quite the same way since his twofold resurrection. Like most times the thought came up, he pushed it aside. There were more pressing matters to occupy his thoughts. Like how to take out those bastards without any of his side getting injured.

The best plan would be to get in their fast and quiet. To take out the men there before they could call for backup or let anyone further up the food chain know that they’d been rumbled. Once they were subdued, the heroes could take their time going through the headquarters looking for any information that related to their on-going investigations. Those cases wouldn’t just disappear now that a minor piece was off the board.

Problem was, most of Red Hood’s tactics tended to be more along the lines of shock and awe. Come in strong and terrify the crap out of the bad guys. By the time he was done, they were practically begging to tell him everything they knew. Sure, it’d work. But his way was noisy and time consuming. 

It was possible for him to be patient when the scheme called for it. He could play the long con until the pieces fell into place. Still, most of the time even those cases tended to end in an explosion of violence. And, now that he considered it, literal explosions were also quite common. 

So, throw out his usual plans. For now. He could always fall back on them later. If the four of them could subdue the goons quietly first, when they finished having a thorough look-see of the premises, Hood could go to work on terrifying any additional information out of the goons—who probably knew damn all about the worldwide operations. 

Though all of that was simply an excuse, if he was willing to be honest with himself. What it really came down to, he didn’t want to put another one of them in danger. First Damian, then Dick, and possibly Babs. He didn’t want to have Tim and Steph on his conscious too. 

Oh, he knew better than to try and stop them from tagging along. If someone tried to stop him, he’d go in anyways. They were adults capable of making their own decisions. If he wanted them to respect his choices, he ought to give them the same respect. Besides, this case was personal for all of them. Even if he wouldn’t admit it in a hundred years, Hood wasn’t about to let a bunch of two-bit goons think they could get away with hurting his family. He was pretty certain he owed at least a few of those goons a series of broken fingers for daring to lay a hand on his kid brother.

All of this meant coming up with a plan to take down the goons fast and hard. He would need the younger man’s help with that. Sloshing through the burgeoning puddles, he addressed the others. 

“Red Robin, do you have something in your gear to discombobulate the henchmen?” 

“Yes. I have some smoke bombs…What are you thinking?” The younger man fished out a handful of what looked like marbles from one of his pouches.

“Huntress, do you have any more of those tranq darts?”

“This is Gotham, of course I do.” The roll of her eyes reminded him that he wasn’t the only one with violent tendencies who had gotten on Batman’s bad side more than once. 

“All right. Since my plans usually end in a bang and I want to take down all of these miscreants—and by all, I mean ALL, not only the ones currently present—I’m going to need some help with the details. That’s where you come in brainy bird.”

Red Robin scowled, but gestured for his counterpart to continue. While Hood continued with his plans, the younger man tapped at his gauntlet computer and brought up a holographic representation of the building’s blueprints. 

“Here’s the broad strokes, we go in fast and silent, work our way through the building room by room. If they get wise to our presence, use the smoke bombs to confuse them. Once they’re down, we search the premises for information. If any new goons show up, we take them down.” He left out the part about breaking fingers. 

“I can work with that,” Red Robin said. “We’ll divide into pairs. Red Hood and I will take the back. Huntress and Spoiler, you have the front....”

As Red Robin detailed out a plan, Red Hood tapped his helmet and switched the Batcomm on in passive mode. He could hear what the others said, but they wouldn’t hear him. Presently, only Bruce and Damian were on an open comm. It was enough for Hood to listen in and know that the others were in safe hands. 

If they were successful, maybe Bruce wouldn’t hold the evening’s events against him. Well, one could hope. 

 


	16. Lost: and Found

Bruce didn’t think he could have driven the Batmobile any faster than Jim was taking his car down the streets of Gotham. Even at the speed they were traveling, they were still the last ones to arrive at the scene. By the time they pulled into the motel parking lot it was already bathed in the alternating blues and reds of the police lights. 

His stomach twisted as he recognised the motel. He had been here in the guise of Batman more times than he’d liked to remember and it never ended well. Until tonight, he supposed. And he hadn’t even been involved.

Scarcely before the car was in park, Jim opened the door and catapulted out of the car towards his daughter who sat on the back of an ambulance with Dick. “Babs!”

She was already moving towards him, shrugging off the blanket draped over her shoulders. Dick followed her brushing aside the paramedics who were in the middle of assessing them for injuries. Jim and Babs met halfway across the parking lot and he wrapped his daughter in a protective bear hug. 

It wasn’t a moment after Jim exited the car that Damian canonnballed from the backseat of the car directly towards Dick.

“Grayson!” the boy wrapped his arms around his big brother and Dick returned the embrace with the same ferocity. 

“Glad you’re safe, kiddo.” Dick said into his little brother’s hair. 

Damian didn’t scoff. 

Bruce followed Jim and Damian at a more pedestrian pace. As much as he wanted to be assured of his oldest son’s well-being, he knew that the brothers needed the mutual assurance of each other’s safety more. Damian knew that he had been the intended victim and that Dick had been taken in his place. Bruce was certain that by now Dick had figured out the same. The boys had a unique bond that differed from their other siblings. It had been forged while Bruce had been lost to time and Dick had not only taken on the role of Batman but also of raising Damian. 

By the time Bruce reached the four of them, Dick had one arm wrapped around Babs’ waist and his other hand on Damian’s shoulder. Babs rubbed small circles on Dick’s back while her dad held her free hand. 

“How are you holding up?” Jim asked. He wasn’t the police commissioner asking for an update; rather he was the loving father concerned with his daughter’s well-being.

Babs repeated the story, which she had obviously already told several times that evening. “I’ll be fine, Dad. Hood and Huntress showed up in the nick of time. And Dick and Damian are safe, so we’re good.”

 _Hood and Huntress?_ Bruce started at the mention of those two vigilantes. This was the first Bruce was hearing that _they_ were the ones who found Dick and Babs. He didn’t even know that Huntress and Red Hood knew each other, let alone worked together. Certainly that pairing spelled disaster. Still, no one had ended up dead...

“Bruce,” Dick said, drawing his dad back to the present and addressing him for the first time. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth—definitely not fine. Dick wasn’t supposed to be the one asking after Bruce, it should be the other way around. Dick had been abducted and injured and threatened, not Bruce. All he had to do was wait. While it had been tortuous, it hadn’t been anything compared to what Dick must have gone through.

He attempted to shake off the frustration and tried again. Stepping forward, he embraced his son. “I’m just glad you’re safe. I’ve been so worried.” 

Though his eldest son returned the hug, it wasn’t with the same ferocity as he’d greeted Damian. Dick held himself back, slightly stiff and distant, like he was waiting for Bruce to lecture him on what he’d done wrong. Turning to Babs, Bruce repeated the gesture. While she accepted the hug more freely than Dick had, her sympathies were definitely on her boyfriend’s side. 

As she leaned in for the embrace, Babs whispered so only Bruce (and possibly Dick) could hear. “We need to talk. We’ve been missing things.”

Bruce nodded curtly. “Later,” he said in a manner that conveyed he understood what she meant. The look in his eyes told the elder two protégés that they’d definitely be having this discussion in the Cave and it probably wouldn’t be pleasant. 

Dick grimaced and glanced away from Bruce. He turned his focus to his brother who hadn’t left his side. The elder boy slipped into a light conversation with the younger about the events of the evening. If Bruce didn’t have years of experience at reading his son’s expressions, it would have been easy to assume that behind Dick’s effusive mask nothing was bothering him. 

How had he already managed to screw things up so badly? All he wanted was for his kids to be safe. He wanted them to know he cared. Ever since he’d learned that Dick had been in a confrontation, he’d been worried sick about his boy. The worry had only increased when Dick and Babs had disappeared with barely a trace and ended up abducted. And now, every time he opened his mouth, it sounded like he was barking orders or castigating their actions.  

As Dick turned to Damian, Babs turned to Jim. In a soft serious voice, she answered her father’s questions. When the conversation turned to injuries, she reluctantly allowed Jim to convince her to head back towards the ambulance and allow the paramedics to complete their examination. Dick and Babs stayed together while Damian and Jim hovered nearby, leaving Bruce as the odd man out. He wasn’t used to that. 

Left alone to his own thoughts, he silently worried over Dick’s wellbeing. He knew Dick wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight. Not just the usual buzz after a night of patrol when you were so wound up that you had to find a way to relax before sleep could even tempt you. No, Dick needed to process this evening’s events. The helplessness of the abduction, the unspent anger from the confrontation, and the lingering doubt about what he could have done differently would all haunt him. The only taskmaster more demanding than Bruce about the younger vigilante’s performance was Dick himself. 

Rain began to fall in starts and stops. The others huddled under the limited shelter offered by the ambulance. Watching his eldest lean on Babs as one of the paramedics from earlier re-bandaged Dick’s injured hands made Bruce wish he could lift the burden from his son’s shoulders. Only, he didn’t know how. For too many years, he’d inadvertently added to that weight by simply expecting his son to know he was proud of him when all too often his words and actions contradicted that fact. Apparently relationships were the one thing Bruce didn’t have a contingency plan for.  

For a brief moment Bruce wished he could rewind time and comfort his eldest son as he did when Dick was a boy. In those early days, Dick would curl up beside Bruce after a rough night. Sometimes the boy would chatter about school or the circus or whatever came to mind until he fell asleep and Bruce would carry him to bed. Other times, when they were both too physically and emotionally drained to do anything more than zone out in front of the television, they would watch something innocent and comforting until they both fell asleep and Alfred covered them with a blanket.

Dick was grown now. He wouldn’t want to find comfort in Bruce anymore. He had Babs. She would hold him as he chattered about nothing and everything or as he absently watched a movie. She would massage the tension out of his shoulders and whisper away the nightmares that haunted his sleep. Bruce was truly glad that they had each other. They were good together. 

If he couldn’t do anything else for them, he could at least make sure they knew they were always welcomed in his home. The Manor was as much their home as it was his. They could both spend the night and in the morning they’d have hot chocolate and pancakes just like in the old days. Maybe he could convince the others to stay as well. Alfred would enjoy having the family together under one roof again. They’d all buy that as the reason for them to spend the night more readily than they would the truth. That it was Bruce who wanted his children at home. He needed to be reassured that they were safe and no one would take them again. Since his words kept betraying him, he hoped that would be enough for them to know he cared.

“Babs, why don’t you stay at the house tonight? For me.” Jim still held his daughter’s hand as though assuring himself that she was still there. That no one had taken her again. 

She clutched the skirt of her ruined dress as the paramedic moved to properly bandage her wounded leg. As she stifled a hiss of pain, she glanced over at Dick. “Do you mind?”

“Nah. Anywhere you go, I go.” 

Bruce snapped his mouth shut with the clack of teeth. Why did he even bother? “Damian. You’re staying at the Manor.”

The boy’s eyes narrowed in defiance but he didn’t protest the command. He shifted in place while remaining in contact with Dick. “Am I on restriction?”

“No.” Bruce swallowed back the desire to snap. _The best laid plans_....hn. “I need you to stay home.”

“Bruce...I promised...” Dick said softly. The muscles in his arms and shoulders tightened as he held Babs closer. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Bruce muttered through gritted teeth. “Tomorrow, stop by the Manor as soon as you can.” 

Dick’s lips pulled into a tight line as he tried to hide his frustration from Jim—not Bruce. “I’ll try...” 

“Bruce, give the kids a break,” Jim said, not fooled by any of their acting. “They’ll be there when they’re ready. They did everything they were supposed to do. You all _played your roles_ well, now you can relax.” Jim had emphasised the same advice Bruce had given Damian when the boy had chafed under their forced inactivity.

Before Bruce could contemplate what this meant, the same paramedic whom Dick had brushed to the side earlier, returned. “Dr. Gordon, Mr. Grayson, we’ve been given the okay to take you to the hospital.”

Though both of the uncostumed vigilantes wanted to protest what they felt was a completely unnecessary trip, neither contradicted him. 

“All right.” Dick scrambled to his feet then offered Babs a hand up. Between the full skirt and her injured leg, it wasn’t as easy for her to find her feet.

“I’m not leaving Grayson.” Damian glared at anyone who might try to stop him. 

Dick glanced over at the paramedics. “Do you mind if my brother rides with us?”

“I’m going with you,” Jim added, not leaving the matter up for debate. 

That left Bruce. All eyes turned to him. 

Before he could insist on anything other than the present arrangements, Babs asked, “Bruce would you mind bringing the car?”  

“Yes.” The word came out clipped and short. Dick and Babs exchanged tense glances over Damian’s head. 

“Thank you.” Jim handed the keys to Bruce. “We’ll see you at the hospital.”

The four of them climbed into the ambulance while Bruce watched. The rain picked up in intensity as the ambulance backed up and drove out of the parking lot.

Lightning cracked, splitting the sky in an almost blinding flash. All too close, thunder followed on its tail in an earth-shaking boom. Bruce didn’t flinch or start. He simply stared at the police continuing with their tasks. Red Robin and Spoiler chattered in his ear, letting him know that they’d already found what the police were looking for. There were clearly gaps where Red Hood was joining in on the conversation, but not linked to the Batcomm. He scarcely heard their words. They didn’t need his help in their investigation any more than Dick and Babs needed him at the hospital. 

The rain fell in sheets, plastering his hair to his head and soaking his all too expensive designer suit. Everyone else scurried for cover while he remained alone in the center of the lot. Was this the legacy he had built? 

With a shake of his head, Bruce headed for Jim’s car. The night was far from over. There were questions that needed answering and he wouldn’t sleep until he discovered at least a few of the answers. 

 


	17. Epilogue - Loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce has discovered the missing pieces. Can he put them back together or are they already lost?  
> And, when Jason returns to the Cave, he doesn't expect a ticker tape parade. 
> 
> The series will continue with a collection of shorts found in 'Vignettes of Family Life' and 'Family Dinners' before continuing with the next multi-chaptered story.

It was well after midnight by the time Bruce made it back to the Manor. Jim had dropped him and Damian off before returning to town and escorting Dick and Babs back to his house. Ever since leaving Dick’s side, Damian had been more sullen than usual and hadn’t spoken a word to his father. From the scowl on the boy’s face, Bruce had the impression that his youngest blamed him for Dick’s decision to spend the night away from the Manor. In no mood to deal with Damian’s attitude and certain he’d only make things worse if he tried, Bruce didn’t say anything as Damian stormed off to his room the moment they arrived home. 

Since it was still too early for sleep, Bruce proceeded to the Batcave. Besides, there was work to do. He sat in front of the computer and began filling in an incident report. Not that he had much of anything to do with the rescue, but he wanted to have a record of what had happened while it was still fresh in his memory. While he worked, Black Bat reported in over the comms that Joel and his son had been reunited. They were both under protective custody until the police could be certain that no one would come after the boy. Released from that responsibility, she informed Bruce that she would patrol the city until dawn. 

Not long after Black Bat finished her report, the Batmobile roared into the Cave. With their masks off, Spoiler and Red Robin exited the car. Steph gingerly held her wrist and Tim massaged his shoulder as they chattered about the details of their recent ended action. If they noticed Bruce’s foul mood, they didn’t comment on it.

Before Bruce could ask about their injuries, Tim addressed Bruce. “Is Alfred upstairs?”

“Yes.” The word came out more curtly than he had meant. 

“I think I sprained my wrist,” Steph said in way of explanation. She kept her voice light and upbeat, as though she could force a better mood on all present by sheer willpower alone. “But, we took down all of Maroni’s goons operating in Gotham. At least, we got all the ones we knew about. Huntress said Babs would check the files once she was back home. Then we can be certain.” 

“What files?” This was the first Bruce had heard of any files. 

“Apparently Babs got her hands on the laptop of the guy who hacked the Manor cameras. She made a copy of the data so now we know what he knows,” Tim added. There was something contemplative in the young man’s expression that Bruce couldn’t quite interpret. “I’ll meet with Babs in a day or two and we will go over the Manor security. See what needs to be fixed or improved and how to prevent this from happening again.”

“Good.” Bruce nodded. 

“Come on Bruce, you can do better than that,” Steph chided. 

He forced himself to stop and think. She was right. 

“Good work this evening. Thank you.” The words were stilted and distant, though they didn’t come out like he was angry or preparing for a lecture. A small victory.

Tim’s eyes widened slightly in surprise at Bruce’s recognition of their work. He gave a succinct nod of acknowledgement before shifting uncomfortably in place. 

“You’re welcome.” Steph grinned around a yawn. “See, that wasn’t so hard.” 

She moved in to either hug him or hit him (Bruce was never sure which to expect from her). Before she could do either, she cringed as she moved her injured wrist.

“You better have Alfred see to that,” Bruce said, releasing them from his presence. “Try to get some sleep tonight. You’ve both had a busy evening.”

Tim hesitated before leaving. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but no words came out. Snapping it shut again, he exhaled sharply and shook his head. Instead he headed for the stairs with a tired “Good night.” 

“Steph,” Bruce said stopping her before he could second guess himself. “When you get upstairs, would you mind checking on Damian? Please.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

He dragged files them from one screen to the next in an effort to appear busy. “He’s upset about something and won’t talk to me. Normally, I’d ask Dick, but...” 

“But Dick’s not here and I’m probably the only other person he’ll talk to without biting off my head?” 

“Something like that.” Bruce was glad she’d understood without him needing to spell it out.

“Sure, I can do it. But, you really need to figure out how to talk to your kids without pushing them away.” 

“Hn.” Of course he did. He knew that. The problem was, he didn’t know how. He’d already made so many mistakes when dealing with his kids. Was it even possible to do as she suggested?

“Well, that’s my advice. It’s up to you if you take it or not.” She yawned and headed for the stairs. “Night.” 

Once again alone in the Cave, Bruce saved his completed incident report, then opened up the series of reports the family had made over the last few months. He’d read them all before, but it felt like he was reading them for the first time. How had he missed so many clues? Why hadn’t he put the pieces together before now?

While it had started out so well, this evening had quickly turned into a disaster. There had been so many mistakes. Some out of ignorance, some from worry...and most of all because he’d just been off his game. What was happening to him? To his family?

For the last few months and probably longer than that, most of the family had been working in their own spheres of influence. Their orbits would cross from time to time when they came together for a scheduled patrol or a particular investigation, but in general they’d all been working on their own cases. Sure, they’d made their reports like he’d instructed them since the earliest days of their training, but the information wasn’t getting to the people who needed it. When he’d finally wrested the details about the afternoon’s misadventure from Damian, he realised that it had been one incident in a series of events that had finally reached the breaking point with this evening’s kidnapping. They had all sensed the coming tragedy and had worked individually to delay it.  Slowly he was putting pieces together he should have put together weeks ago. So much of what had gone wrong today could have been avoided if they had worked together. 

Bruce blamed himself. Though, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t been busy with his own cases. He’d taken down Mr. Freeze and Two-Face before they had the opportunity to hold half the city hostage. And he’d managed to foil Penguin’s latest scheme to make a crooked fortune. For the last week he’d been attempting to track Poison Ivy since her recent escape. These were all important cases too. If he didn’t stop the rogues before their schemes took hold, the chaos that threatened to take over Gotham would be tenfold harder to stop. 

These were also the flashy cases. The ones everybody expected Batman to solve. Even when the others were responsible for stopping the major players in their rogues gallery, it was always his name that the papers inexplicably linked to the solves. As vital as it was to Gotham’s safety to keep the costumed villains behind bars, it was often true that the ‘smaller’ cases—the ones without flashy villains and eponymous themes—were just as important as the ‘bigger’ ones.  It was these lower profile cases that sometimes fell through the cracks when it came to putting together the big picture. Especially when there wasn’t someone collating and distributing everyone’s information. 

He growled in frustration as he re-examined the sorted reports on the screens. If he had followed the clues that were laid out for him, he could have prevented this disaster before it had reached this point. 

Not long ago Dick and Babs had responded to a series of warehouse fires in Blüdhaven. Babs had remarked in her report that some of the crates possessed the Wayne Enterprise logo. She’d also mentioned that a modified version of Venom had been found. Since then, she’d been searching for the source behind the crates. He’d glossed over the information, more worried about the end result of the evening. The loss of life and how it would effect them. He knew Dick and Babs would be wracked with guilt over the loss even though there was nothing they could have done. Of course, he hadn’t done anything about that either—other than keeping an eye on them. 

Then there was Jason and his quest. Several weeks ago, his prodigal son had actually taken the time to leave a memo for Bruce. He’d mentioned that he’d found evidence of a human trafficking ring in Gotham. Just a heads up, he’d look into the details. Bruce had dismissed the note. If Jason wanted his help, he’d ask. 

Meanwhile, Tim had sent him an e-mail concerning anomalies in the Wayne Enterprises accounts. Lucius Fox had asked Tim to look into a series of glitches that had been plaguing the company’s computer systems. The boy was on the trail of someone rewriting information, changing manifests, and siphoning not only money but also proprietary data from WE holdings. In the e-mail, Tim had assured Bruce he was taking care of it, so he’d left the matter in the boy’s more than capable hands without bothering to check in with Tim about what he’d found. 

The others had been busy too. Cass was following the guns that had arrived in Gotham from Blüdhaven. Piece by piece she was taking them off the board. Steph’s regular patrol reports were littered with comments concerning the shift in the Gotham underground. She’d noticed a rise in those murmurings that only occur when a mix-up in leadership was about to happen. In her reports, she’d asked for advice about how to proceed. How had he missed that? 

And then there was Damian. His youngest son had been mostly by his side. They’d worked together to take down the bigger threats that threatened to plague Gotham. While the boy seemed content enough to work at Bruce’s side, he was beginning to wonder if that was actually the case. His youngest had left one of his sketchbooks down in the Cave. Bruce flipped through the pages, feeling a bit like he was trespassing on his son’s private thoughts. By no means simple, the sketches were drawn and shaded in pencil or charcoal. The boy had a gift in expressing his feelings through pictures. An ache settled in Bruce’s heart as he studied the drawings. He couldn’t explain how he knew this, but he was certain Damian was feeling lonely and left out as his elder siblings went off in their separate directions, leaving him behind. It’s why he jumped to go with Jason and sulked when not allowed to stay with Dick. Bruce had missed the signs that had been all too obvious if he had bothered to look.

He was losing his family. They were slipping through his fingers. It wasn’t as simple as Dick choosing Babs over the Manor. That was normal. They were growing up, spreading their wings and flying on their own. It’s what children were supposed to do. But, did that mean he had to lose them in the process? 

Since Dick had helped found the Titans, the majority of Bruce’s children had taken on teams of their own. They were leaders among the superheroing community. In their efforts with their teams, they’d learned to manage without him. They didn’t need him anymore. No wonder they felt comfortable giving orders in his house and running cases without informing him. Were they Bats in name only? 

He’d forced Dick away and now Dick didn’t know if he wanted to come back—or how. After re-donning the role of Batgirl, Babs had isolated herself from the family. Jason....well, Jason was Jason and Bruce didn’t know how to interact with him anymore. The boy would rather work with anyone else than him. Tim kept trying to take on everything by himself without asking for help He’d probably learned that from Bruce, so he had no one to blame but himself. Cass and Steph were practically independent operators these days. 

It wasn’t fair. They might not need Bruce, but he needed them. Not that he told them that. 

Bruce banged his fist against the desk. Dammit, why couldn’t he talk to them? Be honest with them? Tell them that he needed them. No, instead it all came out as manipulation. 

Instead of beating up the very expensive computer, Bruce made his way to the training area. Still dressed in his formalwear sans jacket, he began beating on the freestanding heavy bag. The bag absorbed his punches and rocked on its base with the ferocity of his barrage. Still, it didn’t make him feel any better.

 

Jason hadn’t expected a ticker tape parade. He hadn’t even expected a thank you. At least from Bruce. Dick and Babs had made certain he knew they were grateful for the rescue. Even Steph and Tim had acknowledged his efforts. But, he had hope for something. Maybe a little appreciation that he’d done what Bruce hadn’t been able to. 

Instead, when he pulled into the Cave, he found Bruce beating the heavy bag within an inch of its life. Jason was already up by the supply cabinets, returning the surveillance equipment he’d ‘borrowed’ that afternoon, before Bruce was aware of his presence. 

With a final punch, Bruce knocked over the heavy bag with a resounding thud that startled the few actual bats that had already returned to the Cave after their nightly flights. The older man breathed heavily from the intensity of his workout and had sweated through his designer waste-of-money that was now ruined. Jason was too far away to see the look in Bruce’s eyes, but even from across the Cave, the younger man knew something was wrong. 

“What are you doing?” Bruce growled—all Batman and no Bruce. 

“Putting away your toys,” Jason snapped back. He didn’t have the patience for this, if this was how Bruce was going to _thank_ him. 

“Who said you could borrow them?” Bruce hadn’t moved from his spot. 

Grabbing hold of the railings, Jason propelled himself down the steps to the sunken practice area. He stood face to face with Bruce. Jason was the only member of the family that nearly matched Bruce in height and the only one the older vigilante couldn’t tower over. In this confrontation, if Bruce was fire, Jason was ice. In a soft menacing voice, Jason hissed, “Since when did any of us need to ask to borrow the tools of the trade?” 

“Since you decided to follow your own rules instead of mine,” Bruce countered.

Without realising what they were doing, both men had sunk into sparring stances. They circled each other, ready to lash out with words, or hands, or feet—whichever was most convenient. 

Bruce was the first to break. He lashed out with a weapon more destructive than any usually stored in the Cave. His words. He yelled at his son without a thought about whom he was striking at. “What the hell do you think you were doing today?” 

Jason glowered and returned the blow. “I think I was saving your precious Golden Boy’s ass.” 

“No, what do you think you were doing with _that_ woman?” 

“You mean Huntress?” Jason emphasised each point with a series of punches that Bruce had to work at to deflect. The verbal poniards struck true with each blow. “The woman Dickie slept with? The same woman who was part of Barbara’s spec force team? Or, maybe we’re talking about the woman who saved the Replacement’s arse when you were too busy being Batman to back him up? Let’s not forget that she’s also the woman that saved Batman’s life.” When he finished, Jason was inches from Bruce’s face. “Am I the only one you have a problem with working with her? Or, have you yelled at them too?”

Bruce growled a subsonic rumble. He didn’t answer Jason’s questions. Instead, he returned the barrage, working Jason towards the edge of the mat. “While we’re at it, what were you doing taking Damian into danger?”

Sidestepping before he crossed the ring marked on the mat, Jason had switched places with Bruce. He backed away from his one time mentor and father with more grace than expected from a man of his size. “Do I even need to answer that one? The kid is a trained assassin, like he needs my help to find trouble? And if you’re going to yell at anyone about that, start with the Golden Boy, then try looking in a mirror.”

Jason turned on the ball of his foot and stalked back towards his motorcycle. “I am so fucking tired of these double standards.”

“Stop.” Bruce yelled after him. Jason didn’t stop. 

“Not until you take the log out of your eye,” Jason called over his shoulder. Pausing only long enough to put his helmet back on, he was out of the Cave before Bruce could register what was happening. 

 

“Jason, wait,” Bruce called after him, but his voice was drowned out by the roar of Red Hood’s motorcycle. With his anger finally starting to ebb, he realised what he had done. He’d driven Jason away—again. Moving automatically towards where Jason had disappeared, he crossed the practice mat only to stumble over the toppled heavy bag and fall to the ground. He pummelled his fists against the mat until a familiar quiet ‘Ahem” drew his attention. 

Sometime during the confrontation with Jason, Alfred had arrived in the Cave. 

“Go after him, sir,” Alfred said. His more-than-butler held him in a disapproving gaze until the younger man glanced away in shame.

Bruce stared at the empty spot where the boy’s bike had been moments ago. “I...I don’t know where he went...”

“You’re the detective, find him.” Alfred sniffed and left the Cave, leaving Bruce alone in his thoughts. Just as Bruce hadn’t had the patience for Damian’s snit, Alfred wasn’t going to validate Bruce’s tantrum by acknowledging it. He had no time for Bruce’s nonsense. 

The truth was, Bruce wasn’t angry at Jason for working with Helena. He didn’t hold it against him. While he might disapprove of her methods, Gotham was her city too.

No, he wasn’t actually angry with Jason at all. Bruce knew he was lashing out because Jason had managed to do what he could not. He had rescued Dick and Babs while Bruce was forced to watch helplessly from the sidelines. 

Feeling vulnerable, frustrated and stymied every time he attempted to connect with his children, he had attacked the easiest target. Which was stupid, because Jason was also one of the most vulnerable. The boy could take a physical attack long after the others had fallen, but he had a soft heart that had already been broken more times in his short life than anyone should experience in a much longer one. Even long after they betrayed him, Jason loved those who showed even a modicum of care for him.

Was that what he was looking for from Bruce? Was he searching for proof that Bruce still cared? That Bruce still accepted the boy as his son? 

Bruce pulled at his hair and crumpled to the floor in a huddled ball. He did care. He cared so much his heart ached. Only...only he felt helpless and hopeless. Alfred said, _go after him_. Steph said, _talk to them_. Jim said, _give them a break_. Could it really be that simple?

Contemplating their advice, he remained motionless long enough that the automated lights in the Cave blinked out, drowning him in darkness. Once he moved, the lights would flick back on, but he stayed still. 

Alone, in the dark. 

That’s where he would remain if he didn’t do something to mend the bridges he burned as he’d inadvertently driven his children away.  Would they give him another chance? 

 


End file.
